


The Rule of Six

by eldritcher



Series: The Journal of Fingolfin [17]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-24
Updated: 2015-05-24
Packaged: 2018-04-01 02:26:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4002349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eldritcher/pseuds/eldritcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>- The Melian Arc of Sunset. Six stand-alone stories that show various stages in the life of Melian the Maia. Warnings include homosexual content(femslash), heterosexual content, violence, character death, first draft and canon tweaking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Nightingale

I know I am insane to start yet another WIP. But this one will be fast, I swear. Femslash, even ;)

 

 

**The Rule of Six**  


**Summary:-** The Melian Arc of Sunset. Six stand-alone stories that show various stages in the life of Melian the Maia. Warnings include homosexual content(femslash), heterosexual content, violence, character death, first draft and canon tweaking.

 

 

1\. The Nightingale (Melian/Nienna)  
2\. The Woman (Melian & Lórien)  
3\. The Secrets that the Stars Keep (Melian & Thingol)  
4\. The Queen (Melian/Morwen)  
5\. The Widow (Melian & Mablung)  
6\. The Beloved [no spoilers]

 **Names, Words, People:-**  
Melyanna - Melian  
Lómelindë - Nightingale  
Lómelindënya - My Nightingale  
Olórin - Gandalf  
Irmo - Lórien  
Elwë- Elu Thingol  
Morwen - Wife of Húrin; Mother to Turin and Nienor.  
Mablung - Chief Captain of Doriath during the reign of Thingol.

 **AU:-**  
The first two stories are set within The Journal of Fingolfin and the next three within The Journal of Maglor. The last story is set within The Heralds of Dusk. As a whole, the set ties into the finale of The Sunset arc.

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Nienna's perspective.  


**  
The Nightingale**

 ****

“The tree-tender,” Estë told me. “She cherishes everything that lives and grows.”

We stood by the window overlooking the gardens of Lórien, Estë and I, watching the young Maia water the plants. A warm breeze played havoc with her dark tresses as she bent to brush her fingers over the satiny petals of a rose, and the folds of her gown flew up to reveal shapely feet. Eru’s love for creation was contoured in the woman, her graceful, statuesque frame adorning the gardens of Lórien like dew on a young leaf.

“Melyanna.” Estë’s voice held deep fondness as she told me her charge’s name.

“I have already an apprentice learning under me. Olórin of the Maiar is wise and compassionate. My lessons and my abode suit him well. This young daughter of the trees and of the light, Estë, I don’t wish to take her to my halls. She would be marred by the sorrow that lingers there.”

“I ask nothing binding of you, Nienna.” Estë turned to face me. “Speak to her. And form your opinions. I merely felt that we stand to gain if she bided in your halls awhile and learned from you.”

“It nears the mingling of the lights and I would wish to be in the gardens to gaze upon the sight. Rarely do I see it,” I said wistfully.

“Indeed!” Estë exclaimed. “You could come more often. Must you isolate yourself so?”

“It is not isolation.”

I shook my head as she frowned in perplexity. She did not understand my passion for striving to find wisdom through sadness. I envied her that innate simplicity. My brother was blessed to have her by his side. Even my elder brother, Námo, had found a spouse who formed a perfect foil to his temperament and duties. Having a partner eased one’s worries, I had discovered, during those stolen moments of joy with Tulkas before he had espoused Nessa.

“Hurry then, lest you miss the glorious sight.” Estë smiled and nodded to the gardens.

I ventured outside the mansion and inhaled the fresh breeze that bore the scent of hundreds of flowers in full bloom. Tyelperion was waxing and lent its silvery sheen to the gardens, transforming earthy beauty into surreal glory. A smile lit my lips as I watched the golden light of Laurelin playing hide-and-seek with Tyelperion’s radiance. Rays intermingled, gold and silver, and the land had never seemed more beautiful to me.

Melodious laughter lent voice to the scene and Melyanna came rushing into the middle of the garden, nightingales chasing her. A flush graced her slender neck because of her exertion and when she threw back her head to gaze upon the mingling lights, her eyes glowed with the joy of life.

The nightingales perched on the bushes around her and fell silent. Before I could rue the absence of their sweet chirping, Melyanna had lifted her hands to the heavens and her voice rose in song.  


  
Lelya Culúrien ar silma Ninquelótë  
Aldúya sílankálan alcarin vesta!  


  
She was as wise as Estë had claimed. Metaphorically equating the mingling lights of The Trees to matrimony, she continued singing of the joys of Valinor, her voice high and clear in the silent gardens. The bees had stopped buzzing, there was no scurrying of the smaller animals and even the restless fawns had silently settled on the grass before her, their pleasure evident in their languid contentment.

As she poured herself into the song, her compassion and love for all that Eru had wrought shone in every lilting word. Long suppressed joy welled in my heart as the lingering rays of Laurelin conspired with the willing radiance of Tyelperion to paint her beauty in gold and silver. The last words of the song had no sooner left her lips when Laurelin’s light faded with one final caress bestowed on her frame.

I would have been content to remain in the shade of the trees and watch the scene unfold. But something in her song had stirred me deeply and I found myself walking to her side. Her eyes were closed and her bosom heaved ever so slightly under her simple gown as she took in deep breaths to even her respiratory rate.

“Lómelindë.”

I did never understand why I called her so. Many a lonely time have I cast my thoughts back to that day and tried to comprehend why I had addressed her by thus.

She opened her eyes and stepped back, tilting her head slightly as she took in the stranger before her. The intensity of her gaze was mildly offsetting. But when I offered her a smile, it was reflected on her lips, and her eyes sparkled in good humour.

“Lady Estë has spoken to me of your interest in studying under my guidance.”

“Nienna!” she exclaimed and then blushed, crimson tinging her cheeks charmingly. “I beg your forgiveness,” she apologized hastily. “Lady Nienna.”

“No,” I waved off her apology. “Address me by my name. I abhor titles.”

I had never allowed Olórin this freedom. I wondered why. Perhaps I merely desired to see Melyanna’s beautiful features free of contrition. It was such a trifle and as long as it sufficed to make her smile as she did now, I found that I did not care.

“Would you please allow me to learn under your guidance?” Her melodious voice could sway even my cold brother, Námo.

“You are a child of Lórien, of the light, of the trees and the birds. My halls are to the west of the uttermost West and there is no joy to be found in them.” I had no wish to dampen the joy that shone in her eyes. And I feared that my abode would cause such a change.

“I wish to learn.” Something akin to petulance coloured her voice now, greatly amusing me. “I must learn,” she emphasized.

“Why?” I asked her gently. “Irmo and Estë have taught you all that is needed to discover joy in this world.”

“Indeed, they have. But joy can be discovered only when it exists. I wish to know how to create joy. Estë tells me that cannot be understood lest I learn of sorrow and endurance.”

“I am not as easygoing as Estë and Irmo are. But if that does not daunt you, then you are welcome to my abode.”

She smiled again, my consent to her request transforming her features from nervous anticipation into happy confidence.

“Nothing would please me more,” she said simply.

“Then so shall it be.” Her smile stole a grudging replica from my lips. She was more powerful than she realized; this young daughter of the trees.

* * *

Melyanna was a diligent student. She studied my arts and walked in my halls, her eagerness to learn and experience quite flattering. Many a time, when I saw Melyanna, I was reminded of Melkor and his quest for knowledge. He had wanted to learn how everything worked in order to destroy them and create them anew so that they fit his vision for the world. He would have been the mightiest of us if only Varda had understood the true depth of his regard for her.

Cloistered in my halls, I would silently weep for Melkor’s marring and the grief that it caused the world. But the greater portion of my tears was for love misunderstood, spurned and regretted. Many a time have I seen Varda silently gazing east, her expressive features giving away more of her heart than her words ever would.

“Why did Melkor choose the path of destruction?” Melyanna asked me.

“Why do you think he did?” I smiled at her, wondering how she would reply. Some of her words were wiser beyond reckoning and I wished to hear her view on this.

“In the beginning there was void. And Eru created the world out of it. Without an instrument of destruction, Eru cannot exercise creation again. Perhaps it is written in the plan of Eru that Melkor would choose so.”

I nodded and remained silent. It was not my place to extrapolate the basic sketch. But she seemed dissatisfied with her explanation and pensively examined her slender fingers.

“So Melkor made his choice because he was fated to?” I asked her.

“No,” she mused aloud. “Fate has only direct our path. How far we give in to fate’s whims depends solely on us. Melkor chose because he wished to…because he felt that the path suited him. Perhaps he was motivated.”

“By?”

I leant forward. I was now pulled into her argument. She tilted her head thoughtfully and seated herself neatly at my feet. I smiled at her actions. She loved sitting on the ground and leaning against a person. I had noticed this during the short time I had seen her under Estë’s care. But I had not expected her to continue the practice in my halls. The first time, she had come in rushing into my chamber, talking excitedly about something that had caught her interest, and she had directly flopped down at my feet and leant her graceful spine against me, closing her eyes in contentment. I hadn’t had the heart to forbid her the liberty. So it had continued. I found that I looked forward to the warm press of her body against my legs.

“By greed?” she asked me. “I cannot speculate further. I did not know him well, after all.”

“The greatest motivation,” I murmured.

“Love?” she frowned in perplexity. Hesitation marring her beauty, she asked me in a barely audible tone, “So ‘tis true, that you loved him?”

“No!” I laughed as she sighed in relief. “I refer to another person, Lómelindë. But it is not our concern and I would rather that we speak no more on it.”

“As you wish,” she said. “I am glad that it is not you.”

I laughed. I had been doing that with increasing frequency lately. It was because of her presence. Her mirth and good spirits were extremely contagious. Nightingales had followed her from Lórien into my sombre halls. Her songs made flowers bloom and hearts soar.

“Is it very powerful?” she asked after a long silence. “Is it different from desire?”

I watched her eyes carefully. She truly seemed at a loss. It was not a subject that I wished to embark on, given the degree of failure I had experienced. But I had yet to find the heart to deny her.

“I am not to whom you should pose this question. Irmo, my brother, spawns desire in souls. As to love…it is as you differentiated fate and choice. Desire can only lead us till a point. After that it depends entirely on your heart’s choice.”

She did not reply, but her frame slid an inch lower as she lost herself to thoughts, pondering over my words. Of their own accord, my fingers came to brush her soft, raven-black hair, delighting in the silken smoothness of the dark fall. She sighed and closed her eyes, letting her head fall back. My fingers paused a moment when the hair gave way to the fair skin of her forehead. But the contented, innocent features resolved my course and I began gently kneading her temples. She made a small noise of satisfaction and craned against my legs further, granting me easier access. The angle also brought the long line of her throat to my gaze. I tried to tear my eyes away from the sight, but winded up staring at the intriguing, dark line that deepened beneath the simple gown that she wore.

A single drop of sweat made its torturous way down the length of her neck and when she breathed in, it sped down the dark line between her breasts until it disappeared beneath the clothing. I sighed.

“I wish to learn.” She did not open her eyes. But her voice shook slightly. Her breathing had become harsher. A flush warmed her cheeks. I bit down on my lips to suppress another sigh.

“I do not teach this to my apprentices.”

“Will you teach me?”

“You are under my care, Lómelindë. To teach you this would be interpreted as taking advantage of your presence under my roof.”

She turned and in one smooth movement, knelt before me, her hands coming to rest on my knees. I was trapped by the expression in her eyes; eagerness warring with trepidation. If she had been an equal, we could have dispensed with words.

But she was my student and I could only murmur, “You know not what you ask of me.”

“You desire me.” She did not gloat, nor did she seem repulsed. Instead, she remained as thoughtful as ever, her eagerness to learn shining in every contour of her face.

“You are young, and as yet unlearned in much. The course of action you suggest may become a reason for disillusionment later.”

She sighed and shook her head firmly before bringing my right hand to her lips and planting a soft kiss on it. Her fingers trembled as she released my hand. I did not speak again. My hands came to cup her face and our gazes met. The eagerness in her eyes had been conquered by fear. I had often wondered about the triumphant expression on Tulkas’s features when he had deflowered me. Now, seeing the chaste, virginal form awaiting my actions, I understood and experienced the heady thrill of domination. I brought my index finger to trace her lower lip, enjoying the subtle trembling of the sensitive tissue.

She closed her eyes and remained pliant as I pushed off the gown from her shoulders, revealing the elegant collar bone that attracted my touches like moths to a flame. She quivered and a single breathless gasp escaped her when my digits traced her taut throat. I leant forward and gently pressed her down onto the carpet before pressing my lips to hers. She laughed softly, the warm air teasing my lips. I parted my mouth and let my tongue taste the last traces of the smile that was curving away from her lips. She gasped and brought her fingers to my shoulders, pressing down in mute pleading.

“The carpet is no place for this,” I whispered. “Come, we shall retire to the bedchamber.”

“No,” she shook her head, eagerness fighting with fear. “I want it now, whatever it is.”

“Lómelindë!”

I could not help a smile at her impatience. She gave me a look of such petulance that I was forced to kiss it away. As my lips lingered over her cheeks, her eyelashes fluttered and tickled my face.

My fingers resumed the task of pushing her gown down her shoulders. She raised herself off the carpet slightly so that I could remove it completely from her torso and as the gown lay peeled about her waist, a deep flush played across her features and she averted her eyes to gaze at the carpet pattern.

“You are a beautiful woman.” I told her, awed as I was by the deep glow of her features in the light of Tyelperion.

She did not reply and her fingers played nervously on the carpet. I was reminded forcibly of my own anxiety during my first intimacy. She drew up her legs and pulled out the gown from underneath her, leaving her exposed completely to my gaze.

“I am frightened.” She spoke in a low, hoarse voice.

“I will not continue if you wish us to stop, Lómelindë,” I soothed her, though there was nothing I wanted more at the moment than to map every contour of her body with my fingers and lips.

“I wish to learn.” She took a deep breath and met my gaze fearfully. “I know that you shall not harm me.”

It was the last sentence which stirred me to the core. I turned away and knelt, and brought her hands to the laces that secured my gown. When her warm fingers brushed my skin tentatively, I sighed and leant back into her touch. My actions increased her confidence and the hands that impatiently pushed off the clothing were free of doubt. Before I could turn and remark so to her, heated lips pressed down on my spine with delightfully appealing inexperience. Hands wandered over my flanks, fluttering over the skin like the wind caressing leaves.

I turned to face her and gently pried her hands off my torso. She drew in her breath and met my gaze with deep apprehension.

“Was it wrong?” she asked me, her fingers clenching mine as they sought contact with flesh.

“No.” I smiled reassuringly. “I found it very pleasing, Lómelindë. But I do wish to reciprocate. You wouldn’t deny me that?”

She let her hands fall limp and nodded, her eyes measuring and devouring every feature of mine from head to toes with her characteristic attention. Her eyes lingered over the dark areola surrounding my nipples and the triangular patch of hair between my legs that constituted my sex.

“Do you find me pleasing?”

She offered a shy smile and a nod, before tearing her gaze away from those parts she found so fascinating. I gently eased her back down onto the carpet and kissed her. She seemed to have gained a measure of boldness, for she did not resist when my tongue delved between her lips and passed over her even, white teeth.

“Part your teeth,” I whispered, my fingers caressing her earlobes and I thrilled to find her body straining towards me as it sought to appease a hunger it did not understand.

On hearing my words, she drew back and looked up into my eyes nervously. I pressed my lips to her cheek and let my fingers soothe her into quiescence. When I returned to the kiss, she opened her mouth and allowed my tongue to explore the delicious cavern at will. I flicked my tongue at the gum where the line of teeth ended and her fingers dug into my flanks. The gesture took the last vestige of control away and I could no longer resist the urge to lie atop her, flesh on flesh.

When our breasts came into contact my erect mammary tissues jousted with her nipples and made them swell painfully. She gasped and tried to pull away, the actions contradicted by her fingers that sought to crush me down atop her. I fought off the grip of her hands and brought my lips and tongue to her throat, tracing the jugular vein with relish. A shriek escaped her and her hands clutched at my hair.

“Hush,” I soothed her, “I will not harm you, Lómelindenya.”

She sighed and fell back pliant, soft gasps betrayed her pleasure and astonishment as I explored her body with my lips. I delighted in the breathless laughter which resulted when I twirled my tongue in the hollow of her navel. I had to hold her down when her hips bucked, straining to meet my touch.

My lips pioneered the path between the wet, satiny folds of her sex. Her low moans became inarticulate cries as she arched, fighting my firm grip that held her down. Sweat slicked her inner thighs, combining with her pheromones to provide a heady scent that made me inhale deeply in pleasure.

She broke in my embrace, her eyes falling shut even as sobs left her lips. I drew her closer and whispered sweet endearments in her ears as Tulkas had once soothed me. She nuzzled my collar bone tiredly before whispering her gratitude. I caressed her forehead that was aglow with sweat and she leant into my touch contentedly.

“Who was it?” she asked, her voice still hoarse and dry.

I brought a glass of water to her lips and bade her drink before replying, “Are you in earnest?”

“I wish to know. Who was it?” A blush stained her cheeks as she met my gaze.

“Tulkas.” I did not see any reason in withholding the information. I had no regrets, after all.

“Oh!” Her lips formed a wondering circle, enticing me too irresistibly that I had to trace them with my fingers.

“It was before he had espoused Nessa, Lómelindenya . We had nothing in common other than desire. I have no regrets. My life suits me, as it stands.”

“You address me possessively,” she remarked, a faraway expression coming to reside in those doe eyes.

“And,” I pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead, “I shall always do so. That does not mean you must read deeper into my actions.”

“How can one be sure?” Her brows knit together in charming confusion that I had to smile.

“You will differentiate love from desire when it occurs, Lindenya,” I brushed her dark hair away from her forehead. “Was my lesson instructive?”

She laughed, a free, melodious sound that did not fail to heal my marred heart. I was content to lie back and listen languidly as she spoke with endearing hesitation about our activities. She would become wise and renowned one day, I realized as I looked into those eloquent eyes. She would be marred by grief and taken down by love. She would know defeat, loss and hopelessness.

Some of my thoughts must have been reflected on my face for she paused midway through a sentence and looked at me in concern.

“It is nothing,” I smiled, dragging her atop me. “I wonder if I might persuade you to practice my teachings upon this willing person.”

“Willing?” she laughed, her fingers involuntarily mapping my face.

“Entirely, I assure you.”

With that confirmation, she delved into the task with her characteristic verve and I lost myself to the rising sea of passion that she churned within me.

Nightingales sung softly about the wisps of the future that I had foreseen. I blocked their voices from my ears, confining myself to the ecstatic moans of pleasure that were spun about our locked bodies. Her fingers quested their way into my hands and I lay wrecked in her arms, in the spent aftermath of passion.

* * *

“I will leave,” she said, her melodious voice unwavering in its resolution.

“It would be wiser to let Olórin-”, Irmo began speaking, his fondness for Melyanna disinclining him to accept her decision.

“Nienna,” she appealed to me, her deep eyes holding me in thrall as they had done ever since that shared intimacy. “Please, let me go.”

I took a deep breath and turned to face Manwë and the rest of my peers. Estë was shaking her head dubiously.

“She has made the right choice.” I had never been able to deny her, after all.

“It is not her fate to waste away her life there,” Manwë began hotly.

“But it is my choice, all the same.” Melyanna did not yield. “Will you deny me that, Lord Manwë?”

He did not. He could not, for she was her own mistress.

* * *

I waited in the glade where I had first seen her singing. She came to me, her features aglow with the victory she had earned in Manwë’s court.

“Thank you!” Her fervent gratitude took the form of a warm embrace that threatened to undo my carefully-built composure.

“You don’t realize what you asked me for.” Ironic, how my words echoed that which I had spoken when she approached me for a certain lesson.

“I promise to return, Nienna.” There was no doubt in her clear voice. “I shall return.”

“So be it.” I brushed her lips with mine one final time before stepping away. “I must hurry to my abode now. Fare you well, Lómelindenya.”

“Will you not tarry to watch the mingling of the lights?” she called after me.

I shook my head, not trusting my voice to conceal the emotion that ravaged me from within.

* * *

“Why do you isolate yourself?” Estë was complaining.

“It is not isolation.”

“It is. You don’t even deign to visit Lórien anymore.” She sighed in vexation.

I would not visit Lórien again. I could not, when my memories of the place are confined to my nightingale singing to the skies, her beauty haloed in gold and silver by the light of the Trees.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

  
__

__

_Lelya Culúrien ar silma Ninquelótë  
Aldúya sílankálan alcarin vesta!_

 _“Lovely Laurelin and silvery Tyelperion,_  
The Two Trees they shine silver and gold in glorious matrimony!”  
  
The translations are unattested as of now. Sadly, I shall have to let them be till after NaNoWriMo J

 

* * *


	2. The Dreamweaver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Irmo has schemes and Este cannot unsee what she sees.

 

“I believe not in you, and not in your pantheon. Heed my words and fear him,” she said simply, conviction lending her the strength to utter those damning words. Perhaps it was for the best. If she lived, she would sow the seeds of atheism in her son. 

 

His words were as enchanting as his golden web of dreams. I believed him as I always had done. It required less courage to live a lie than to fight the truth.

 

Names, words, people:

Estë - spouse of Lórien.  
Irmo - Lórien.  
Melyanna - Melian.  
Míriel - wife of Finwë, mother of Fëanor.  
Vairë - spouse of Mandos.  
Olórin - Gandalf  
Námo - Mandos  
Varda - Elbereth.

* * *

The Rule of Six : The Dreamweaver

“She has returned,” Irmo said quietly, his gaze fixed on the rejoicing nightingales. 

I did not reply. But my fingers clenched over the folds of my gown involuntarily.

“She will stay in Lórien,” he ordered. “I will not have her apprenticed to others. What she wishes, I shall teach her.”

“As you will it,” I said softly. 

I did not want to provoke his anger. I had never faced the brunt of his ire before. But I knew instinctively that it would be dangerous to fall afoul of him. With a perfunctory kiss to my cheek, he strode out of the mansion and I was left to nurse my fears alone.

I stood by the window, watching my husband weaving his web of enchantment that would trap the young maiden who trusted us both. I was helpless. In no court would my word prevail over that of my husband. 

When he advanced to meet the maid, slipping easily into the role of a benevolent guardian, I stifled a sob and turned away.

* * *

“What ails you, gentle Estë?” my sister-in-law asked me concernedly when I visited the abode of Námo. 

Vairë was a weaver of fate. Did she know what was happening in the gardens of my husband? Suspicion killed all the trust I had in her. I shook my head and tried to divert the discussion.

“That I weave fate does not mean I know fate, Estë,” she said pensively. “I am merely a tool. Tell me what ails you. I fear. I have never seen you so affected before.”

“Melyanna,” I whispered, my mistrust thawed by her sincere concern. 

She did not reply immediately. Instead, her eyes took on a faraway look and she sighed. 

“You knew!” I exclaimed in horror. “You knew and you did not tell me!”

“No!” she said hastily, her features aghast. “I knew nothing of this.”

“Then? There is something, Vairë. Tell me!”

She nodded and took a deep breath before saying, “Aulë once told me that there was more to the discord between Melkor and Manwë than their love for Varda.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, feeling that dark edge of comprehension nudge at my mind tauntingly. 

She fixed me with a pitying look and said softly, “Irmo wields powerful influence in the realm of thoughts. Dreams may turn into schemes. Varda’s folly gave him ultimate power.”

“He does not-” I stopped, frightened and benumbed.

“Not exactly,” she shook her head. “He does not have the power to instigate thoughts in the minds of those greater than him. But Melkor did not need heavy persuasion to hate Manwë who took away what he had loved the most. Manwë did not need new reasons to doubt Varda’s fidelity to him.”

“But why?” I asked, feeling tormented beyond endurance.

Tactfully, she did not reply. But I was a woman, and I knew. My husband loved perfection and purity. I had known that from the moment his lust for Melyanna became evident. What among Eru’s creations was more perfect and pure than Varda herself? Irmo had destroyed her happiness and the happiness of the two souls who loved her.

“Does she know that my husband coveted her?” 

Vairë answered carefully, “I think not. She lingers in the realm of what could have been. Driven by repentance and regret as she is, I daresay she does not know.” 

“That is well,” I said quietly. “You must help me save Melyanna, Vairë.”

“Do not fall prey to haste, Estë,” she counselled me.

* * *

He made love to me that day, his technique languid and sensual. It was as powerfully intoxicating as his dreams were, melting my core and moulding it anew in a frame he desired.

When he kissed me after that, warm tendrils of his mind came to engulf my thoughts and soothed them. I felt satiation and peace. Horrified, I met his gaze. There was such happiness and pleasure lingering in those eyes that I knew what had transpired.

* * *

Melyanna did not sing in those gardens again. She existed, as a soul captured within the cage of flesh and bone. I could not bring myself to speak with her. My husband insisted on tutoring her almost every day and returned in such high spirits that left me with no doubt of his activities. He did not harm her. Her glowing complexion and rouge-stained cheeks testified to that. But there was no light in her eyes and there was no song on her lips. 

“Lady!” 

I turned away from the window. I had been listening to a lament sung in the haunting voices of the nightingales. Did they know?

“Lady Estë!” 

It was Olórin, Nienna’s resident apprentice. He was wise and saw deep into hearts. I shielded my thoughts and granted him audience, wondering if Nienna had sent him on an errand.

“I would speak with you confidentially,” he murmured, his eyes shining in sorrow as the lament of the nightingales resounded in the air.

“You may.” I nodded assent.

“Lady Nienna enquires about the wellbeing of Melyanna,” he said quietly. “Tidings have reached her that claim Melyanna is fading.”

I stood there, torn between loyalty to one who had broken his vows to me and the righteousness that clamoured to reveal all to the world that remained oblivious. Tendrils of warmth, so soothing and gentle, caressed my mind. I inhaled, letting myself be lulled into peace by my husband’s golden dreams. 

“My lady?” Olórin prompted me.

“She fares well. Tell Nienna that she is merely spending her days with her thoughts.” 

My husband’s thoughts caressed me. I had done well. I sighed as his warmth and love washed over my senses. 

Olórin frowned, but bowed deeply and left me to my thoughts.

* * *

“I cherish you, gentle Estë. You are the balm of my existence. If not for you, never would I stop walking in my make-believe realm of dreams…”

Like a hungry dog starved for days, I lapped up his words, not daring in the least to even cast a shadow of disbelief on this speech.

* * *

As it turned out, Olórin had seen deeper than most. He spoke of his suspicions to Nienna. Nienna was the young woman’s patroness. My sister-in-law prevailed over Irmo and had Melyanna taken to her halls in the uttermost west. There she was revived again. Nightingales ceased their laments and the mingling of the lights was sanctified by her songs once more.

But she was restless, ever seeking to distract herself with new pursuits. Perhaps she was trying to stave off the dark memories and the lure of dangerous dreams. Irmo never failed to refer to her as his most talented student. He loved beauty and Melyanna embodied it. 

When the Quendi woke in the Cuiviénen, Melyanna volunteered to travel to those lands and teach the new race. Irmo opposed it most fervently. But she begged Manwë for a hearing of her plea and it was allowed.

* * *

“Olórin is equally versed, if not more,” Irmo said angrily. “There is no reason why you should be the one to go.”

“Yes,” Manwë ruminated aloud. “Why do you wish to go, Melyanna? Your role in the Song is to grace lives and lands.”

“I need to go, milord.” She bowed to him deeply. “Of late, I have felt constrained by these lands and customs. I wish for new experiences.”

“Teaching the Quendi is a noble endeavour,” Vairë said quietly. “She shall serve a purpose.”

“Olórin can do it,” Irmo snapped. “He served a longer apprenticeship with Nienna.”

“Nienna,” she appealed to her patroness. There was more in her gaze than mere respect for a teacher. I frowned as my husband’s eyes narrowed in realization. “Please, let me go.”

Nienna was firm as she said, “She has made the right choice.” 

“It is not her fate to waste away her life there,” Manwë began hotly.

“But it is my choice, all the same.” Melyanna did not yield. “Will you deny me that, Lord Manwë?”

My husband sighed. He loved her. Perhaps it was her beauty that he loved. But I did not care. I knew that he loved me the most. His dreams folding around my mind always told me so. 

“You must not go. It is a harsh land, and you are a woman,” he said finally. 

“I am a woman.” She did not meet his gaze, though crimson stained her cheeks. “That is why I need to go.”

* * *

She left. In the blessed ignorance granted by the dreams Irmo spun, I remained content and happy. It was easier to be oblivious than to worry about his fidelity.

Then came another woman and I never knew peace again. She was like those black swans that embody grace and beauty. Wise and compassionate, she was devoted to her husband. Míriel was a woman who unconsciously captured regard. By all means he knew, Irmo tried to ensnare her as he had once done Melyanna. But she resisted, for her will was of iron and her fidelity to Finwë unimpeachable. 

When she lay breathing her last in the gardens of Lórien, Irmo offered her renewed life. She spurned him.

“Námo shall come,” he told me as he stormed out of the gardens in anger after her final defiance.

I kept watch for my brother-in-law’s errand. The gardens were silent. The nightingales had deserted them after Melyanna’s departure. She had been the life and light of Lórien. The only sound was that of the rustling of leaves as I waited for Námo.

“-anár--” Míriel was gasping, her stricken face testifying to the fear of death.

“Hush…” I didn’t know what else to tell her. She was too young to die.

She shook her head, tears running down her cheeks. It wrenched my heart. She was very young and deserved to live.

“My husband can--”

“I want nothing of him!” She spat, no longer caring to withhold her tears. Her eyes shone like silver in the light of Tyelperion, fiery and molten. “Whatever alliance he has with Melkor, you can be assured that he will destroy you all!”

“Melkor and my husband have no alliance,” I said, horrified at her fury.

“You should fear him, Estë!” she exclaimed, pain convulsing her features. 

“Speak no ill of the Valar, child,” I said quietly. “Blasphemy shall do you harm.”

“I believe not in you, and not in your pantheon. Heed my words and fear him,” she said simply, conviction lending her the strength to utter those damning words. Perhaps it was for the best. If she lived, she would sow the seeds of atheism in her son. 

I rose and turned to walk away. She was mad. Perhaps it was because she feared death and wanted to blame it on my husband.

“Fëanáro,” she whispered; her voice parched and hoarse. “Name him _Fëanáro_.”

I turned to find her lips parted, her grey eyes unseeing and her body no longer a container of that brilliant soul it had possessed.

* * *

“You own me, for I love only you.” 

His words were as enchanting as his golden web of dreams. I believed him as I always had done. It required less courage to live a lie than to fight the truth.

* * *


	3. The Secrets That Stars Keep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Oropher has a criminal record that they cover up adroitly.

  
Names, words, people

Galadhon - father of Celeborn.  
Golodh - Sindarin equivalent of 'Noldo'.  
Golodhrim - Noldor.  
Elu - Elu Thingol, Elwë.  
Ingwë - High-King of Aman.  
Ingwion - son of Ingwë  
Gorthaur - Sauron.

* * *

The Rule of Six : The Secrets That Stars Keep

“Father!” I rushed to my parents’ dwelling, my chest heaving and sweat streaming down my forehead. 

“A beast?” My father rose to his feet, and beside him, Elu did the same. 

“No,” I shook my head. “It is him again. She is crying and Mother is with her.”

“The scoundrel!” My father cursed and strode to my side. “Stay here, I am going to find him and make him pay.”

“Galadhon,” Elu said firmly. “I shall deal with this. Go to your sister. I shall find the Golodh.”

“But my lord,” my father hesitated. “It is my duty as her brother to-”

“And it is my duty as your chief and friend,” Elu cut in. “I shall take Celeborn with me. Go to your sister. I shall bring him to justice.”

“He is a Golodh. Our rules don’t bind him,” my father spat angrily.

“Finwë is my friend. He will understand,” Elu said reassuringly. My father nodded stiffly and left the dwelling. 

“Come,” Elu bade me.

“Yes, uncle.” I took up my quiver and bow before following him on the Golodh’s trail.

It was not the first time this had happened. Many a time would we rush to bring him to justice for the crimes he wrought on my aunt, my father’s sister. But each time, she would send her young son after us, begging us to spare the Golodh, for she loved him.

“Cousin!” My father rushed to Elu, his face grim and frightened.

“Speak, what has happened?” Elu implored. “Is she well?”

“No,” my father shook his head miserably. “He has done much harm. The boy is missing and I fear that the Golodh has taken him away from her.”

My uncle was not a man easily moved to fury. But on hearing those words, his jaw tightened and his eyes blazed. He gave curt instructions to our warriors to form search parties and put my father in charge of the camp. Then he beckoned to me imperiously and we picked up the Golodh’s trail.

* * *

Though our people excelled in hunting, the Golodhrim matched our skills if need pressed them. Elu and I moved through the dense woods beside Gelion, rushing down the trail and we did not catch up with him even after we had entered Nan Elmoth, the perilous forest where none dared venture. But I was with Elu and I did not fear, for he was the most valiant of our people. 

“Hark!” he said suddenly, cupping an ear and straining to hear something, “Can you hear it?”

“Uncle?” I asked him. I did not hear anything beside the sounds of a forest and the distinct gurgling of a stream somewhere to the south.

He did not reply, as he frowned and concentrated. Then he muttered a curse and rushed north. I could do nothing but follow in his wake. His pace was so fast that it was all that I could do to keep the tail end of his grey cloak in sight. Low-hanging branches struck our face and arms, leaving gashes. Brambles tore through our cloaks and boots. But he did not stop, running as a man possessed. 

Then I heard it; the concert of a hundred nightingales. 

But it was not the first time we had heard it in Nan Elmoth and I wondered why he was so keen. My unvoiced question was answered the next moment when a clear, musical voice that surpassed the melody of the nightingales rose high and proud to our north. The notes washed over the wind, and the branches swayed along in symphony. Nan Elmoth came alive to that song, sung in the strange tongue of the west. 

I did not understand the song; but I understood the emotions that it brimmed with. Sadness, compassion and an all-searing love for the earth we walked on. I knew I would never go west, not when this land offered all that it did. And before me, Elu fell to his knees and gathered the rich, black earth into his fists. Then he pressed his forehead to the soil in obeisance. I knew he would never go west either. 

Then, as suddenly as the song had begun, it stilled and there was only silence. Even the creatures of the forest were quiet. 

Elu rose to his feet briskly and notched an arrow into his great bow. I did the same and we ran north. 

There, under a starlit glade, akin to a statue crafted by the Valar, stood a woman, tall and fair, too beautiful to be described by any words that language possessed. I would have called her a vision granted by Lórien, but for the blood on the white folds of her gown that swept the forest floor and the heaving figure that her arms ensconced. Blood there was upon her fingers too, I saw, as they ran down a shuddering spine reassuringly. 

Elu exclaimed and I tore my eyes off the woman to the crumpled figure that lay before us, a crude hunter’s knife jutting between its ribs. 

“What has happened?” Elu demanded of the woman even as I knelt by the corpse, for corpse it was, and turned it over. It was the Golodh.

“Uncle!” the shiver-wracked figure in the woman’s embrace turned to face us.

“Oropher!” I leapt to my feet and held my arms open in relief. The woman released my cousin and he rushed into my arms, tear trails flooding down his cheeks.

As I rocked him gently, trying to make sense out of his incoherent blabbering, Elu advanced towards the fey woman. She remained still, the blood still dripping from her fingers, her eyes burning with a strange light and a peculiar smile gracing her lips. 

“Who are you?” he asked, in the softest tone I had ever heard him employ. 

She did not reply, but offered him her blood stained hand and I watched stunned as he clasped it between his own and drew it to his lips to place a perfunctory kiss. 

“Did you kill him?” Elu demanded again, his eyes holding uncertainty and fear for the first time in his life.

“I killed him!” Oropher shouted hysterically. “I did it, uncle!”

“Oropher!” I exclaimed, even as Elu turned to face us in shock. 

I gripped my young cousin’s jaw and made him look into my eyes. His green ones were dilated in fear and shock. I rocked him once again against me and said softly, “Tell us what happened.”

“Let the poor child be.” The woman spoke to us in our tongue, but her words were accented by a curious lilt. “What is done, is done.”

“To take a life is no mere matter!” Elu said angrily. 

Oropher flinched and tried to break away from my reassuring hold. I hushed him and glared at my uncle. 

“He did what any son should do. He killed the man who forced his mother into intimacy,” the woman said quietly. 

At the word ‘killed’, Oropher shuddered and gripped the front of my cloak with trembling fingers. My hands, as they sought to stroke his spine, were shaking too. 

“The man was his father!” Elu retorted. “It was his right to demand it of his wife.”

Of course, none of us were happy with that. But Oromë had taught us that any man who took a woman could consider himself as her husband. Women were as game, to be hunted at will and owned. But Oromë had given us a warning; that we could own only one woman. The Golodh had come upon my aunt while she had been bathing. And he had taken her to wife. But he did not give her family brideprice as was our custom. Instead, he remained in his settlement and rarely came to see her. 

When he saw fit to come to her, he caused her grief. Till the end, I did not know if it was love or fear that made her remain silent.

A child had been born of that loveless union. My father had taken in the babe and named him Oropher. I was his guardian and mentor. But on the days, the Golodh came to visit, he would demand to see his son. We could not naysay him, for he was the father. My cousin was stoic, and rarely spoke of what ensued when he was in his father’s company. He had a strong will. But his mother’s screams and cries undid him more than his pain did and he would rush to me, tears in his large, green eyes. I could do nothing, for the law allowed full possession to the Golodh. 

“He did her nothing but harm,” the woman said simply. “I consider that his death is the end of the pestilence that plagued her life. Take your nephew and return to your people.”

“Who are you?” I asked.

She began to sing again, her voice keening against the silence of the woods. It was as if great ignorance was lifted off our minds and we saw more than we ever had known. 

Elu whispered a quiet sentence and lifted his hand to her face, to trace those fair features. Oropher sighed and buried his face in my chest. I gathered him into my arms, for he was yet not of age and very light of weight. I left the glade, not remaining a witness to the union of Ainur and Eldar.

* * *

With Oropher half-coherent and sobbing quietly into my cloak, our pace was slow. He barely had the strength or the will to keep to his feet and I was forced to carry him through the woods. Though I made him drink and eat at intervals, the nourishment had no effect on him. 

We reached the site of our dwellings after a long, hard journey. But the camp was deserted and the trail was cold. Our people had travelled on.

“Celeborn,” Oropher whispered in fear. “What shall we do now?”

“We live,” I said firmly. “Come now, cousin. Pull yourself together and help me build a fire. Gather firewood. Take my bow. I will make myself a new one. There is a yew tree yonder.”

“But it is a living tree,” Oropher balked.

“What greater purpose shall it serve than helping us to survive?” I retorted. “Go, gather firewood.” 

He nodded and rushed to do my bidding. I smiled wryly when I saw the set of his face, frightened but determined. We made a fire and I roasted tubers over it. He remained silent as I wrought a bow. 

When I finished my task, he had fallen asleep, curled in on himself. I pulled him to me and covered him with my cloak. 

“Will Oromë come and kill me?” a muffled voice asked me when I had nearly drifted into reverie.

“Why would he do that?” I asked sleepily.

“Because I killed my father,” his voice broke on the words and the pain that assaulted him from within poured into me. 

“Hush,” I said quietly. “Do you think I am going to tell him?”

“No,” he said simply. “You will keep my secret.”

“And Elu won’t tell him either,” I reassured him.

“Mmm…” he murmured.

“Will the woman tell him?” 

He did not reply immediately, but after I patted his cheek in reassurance he spoke softly. “She said that she would be my secret keeper if I agreed to be hers.”

“Being long acquainted with your wise cousin, you agreed, didn’t you?”

He nodded against my chin and we did not speak again. Even after he drifted into the sleep of the deeply worn-out, I remained awake. Would Oromë come to slay my cousin? My grip on my bow tightened and I kept a determined vigil.

* * *

Thalion, one of Elu’s friends, found us. He took us to a small settlement of those who yet remained. He did not ask us about anything. We built a new life in that settlement. 

Elu returned after long years had passed. The woman was his wife now. Oropher rushed to greet them, the first sign of exuberance I had seen in him ever since that fateful day. But it was not Elu whom he embraced. 

“Melian!” he cried and flew into her open arms.

“My secret keeper!” She spoke in that melodious voice and the lines of care were lifted from his young face. 

I sighed in relief and walked to embrace Elu. Together, we built our realm in Doriath. It took many years before we could persuade Oropher that Oromë would not come to kill him. But he managed to leave the shadow of his past. As much as I would like to flatter myself that I was responsible for his recovery, I must allow that Melian played an equally important role. 

For my part, I remained wary of Melian. She was wise and far-seeing. She could discern the motives of men before they had even completed their thoughts. I knew she would protect us against Melkor, but I could not fathom her and that made me cautious in my dealings with her. Both Oropher and Elu trusted her completely, as did most of our subjects.

* * *

Then came Finrod’s sister to Doriath. I fell in love with her. But fierce opposition from my kin and her family stood between us. I hated the Golodhrim for the grief that one of their clan had caused Oropher. 

“Daughter of Kinslayers,” one of my friends jeered at her as Galadriel entered the court.

“I am not the only one stained by blood,” she said quietly, her gaze intense as it came to rest on Oropher. “The deepest stains are hidden by the night.”

Instinct made me step before my cousin. I did not how she had unearthed our secret. But there was no doubt that she knew.

“And the night conceals more than stains,” Melian said smoothly. “Thingol and I met under the stars, Galadriel.”

Galadriel turned to face the Queen. She was the only Golodh in the court, for Thingol had taken Finrod hunting. But the pride and fearlessness in her stance was not affected by her lack of supporters, I noticed with grudging admiration. Not many could hold the gaze of Melian as she did now. 

Melian smiled and extended her hand to the princess of the Golodhrim. Galadriel tossed her shining hair defiantly and refused to pay obeisance.

“I come from a line of kings. My brothers and cousins are princes and rulers.” Galadriel drew herself to her full height. “In a world where only power matters, my people are accounted mighty. If you slander me again,” she spared the courtiers an arrogant glance, “then the consequences could prove disastrous to Doriath.”

“Please!” Lúthien intervened before the courtiers could retaliate. “We are all friends, are we not?”

Her innocent question brought about peace. The courtiers bowed as Galadriel passed them. She, in turn, managed to affect a small bow as she came before Melian. And I fell helplessly in love with that infuriating woman.

It was ironic that I who hated the Golodhrim so dared to defy lord and land to marry her. Oropher stood by my choice, though his ingrained sense of delicacy would balk when I stole into her chambers at nights. He respected Galadriel from the very beginning and often championed for her in the court of Doriath. I could rarely be bothered to defend her, because I hated her race with a passion.

Once, I told her, when we were with Oropher, Elu and Melian, “Have you given any thought to accepting my title and legacy?”

“Why would I want to do that?” she asked incredulously.

The laws of the Valar had not changed, and she was my property. It was but right that she leave behind her titles and accept mine. 

“Because you are my woman. The law decrees that you must swear to accept the title of your husband’s house.”

The room was silent. Elu was watching us with mild concern. Melian smiled that all-seeing smile of hers. Oropher was trying his best to not meet my eyes. 

Galadriel rose to her feet and faced me, her back against the fire, so that she shone red and golden in the cave. Her blue eyes were ruthless when she spoke.

“I don’t hold with those laws,” she said. “If you expect such of me, you shall simply have to change your view on the subject.”

“But-” I began, halted and started again. 

“I defied my family to marry you,” she said coldly. “If you will not have me on my terms, then you may not have me. For what it is worth, I love you. If that shall not suffice, ask no more of me.”

“She is right,” Oropher said quietly, to break the astounded silence that had fallen in the chamber.

“What say you?” I asked disbelievingly.

A sliver of the past played in his green eyes before he said resolutely, “I agree with Galadriel.”

It was one of the many disagreements that my wife and I had. We were too obstinate to lead a peaceful life together. Neither age nor wisdom tempered our natures. There were days when I wondered why I still lived with her. It must have been love.

* * *

Oropher came to me during the eve of the War of Wrath. His features held only fear and sadness as he rushed into the chamber and wrung his hands.

“What is it?” I asked him over a large map.

“I did it,” he rasped hoarsely. “I am frightened, cousin.”

“What did you do?” 

I was taken back in time to that day in Nan Elmoth, when he had confessed to killing his father. 

“I did it with Ingwion’s daughter,” he whispered. “We made love yesterday night. We are married by the laws of the Valar now. Bonded, to use exact terms. What shall I do now? I am frightened. So is she. Her family will not allow this.”

“There is nothing that they need to allow, is there?” 

Galadriel entered the chamber, swathed in sheets, her skin flushed pink after the hot bath I had coaxed her into to soothe her after the long journey she had undertaken from Lindon. She had come in the dark of the night and crept into my chamber. One night of passion before the war just like in the old romances, she had jested. I fought down a wave of desire as the memories of the night surfaced in me, and settled for staring at her bare feet. Even the sight of her toes was enough to make me sweat and fidget. She had told me depraved tales of her brother’s addiction to long-toed men.

“But,” Oropher wrung his hands again. “They won’t accept her choice. The poor thing is frightened and there is nothing I can do.”

“Cowards should not court,” she said briskly as she began toweling her hair dry.

I rolled my eyes at her and turned to my despondent cousin. “It will be fine,” I said. “I shall speak to her people. Now, get arrayed. We are riding soon.”

“I trust you,” he smiled wanly and left the chamber.

“What is it in your blood that makes you steal away the daughters of kings?” Galadriel snorted.

“Is that how you would put it?” I asked, affronted at her seeming innocence.

“No,” she modified. “If I had not got you by fair marriage, I would have got you by other means.”

“What would those means be?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“No.”

She was as cunning as a den of foxes and I had no wish to be privy to the workings of her guile-filled mind. That she would have gone to any length to marry me was reassurance enough.

* * *

“What is it?” Galadriel asked me concernedly when I ran my hands through my hair and sighed.

“The child,” I muttered. “It cries a lot.”

“Children cry,” she remarked. “Motherless children cry more.”

“It has green eyes,” I said quietly.

“Oropher has green eyes,” she said puzzled. “Why would that bother you?”

It bothered me. The child’s eyes were not the shade of green that Oropher had. Those eyes were emerald, as had been the eyes of Oropher’s father.

* * *

He doted on the child. A more indulging father, I have never had the misfortune to come across. Thranduil was undoubtedly the most spoilt prince in Arda and Oropher seemed proud of that fact. 

“He rules Greenwood,” Galadriel said, “and his son rules him.” 

That was the undeniable truth. I advised him to allow his son less leeway with matters.

“I will never be to my son what my father was to me, cousin,” he said solemnly. We did not discuss the matter again. 

He devoted himself to his son’s happiness till the end. Thranduil, for his part, was loyal to his father. But after Oropher’s death, changes came about in his son. He became a ruthless ruler. Without his father’s compassion to temper him, his grandfather’s heritage surfaced. 

His deep friendship with the Golodhrim of Imladris worried me, for he was driven on joining his fate to their doom. My love for Oropher made me broach the matter with him more than once. But he was as amenable to my suggestions as steel was to cloth. 

I do not think that he ever understood what the reason behind his instinctual sympathies for the Golodhrim was. 

“Blood calls to blood,” Galadriel had said long ago.

In that, as in everything else, she was right. But she did not realize how deeply accurate her observation was. Only the stars, Melian and I remained of those who knew the truth. Melian had been my cousin’s secret-keeper. I would deliver myself to Gorthaur rather than betraying him. And the secret would be kept by the stars that had shined above Nan Elmoth that day.

* * *


	4. Behind The Girdle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Morwen is seduced by Melian's charms.

Warnings: homosexual content (fem). Morwen/Melian.

“Of all things upon earth that bleed and grow,  
A herb most bruised is woman.”

-Medea, Euripides.

Morwen and her daughter, Nienor, are in Doriath. Morwen pines for her lost husband and son. Melian is weary; the Girdle of Doriath is failing, her will is no longer as powerful as it once was and her husband is but a shadow of himself after Finrod’s death and Lúthien’s choice. This is from Morwen’s perspective.

* * *

“I must retire,” Thingol was saying. “The wardens of the northern marches have sought an audience with me before dawn. They need to ride away immediately after that, for the borders cannot remain unpatrolled.”

Melian did not reply, remaining engrossed in the correspondence. It was one of those evenings in Doriath. Nienor, my daughter, had retired. Thingol was the kindest host and would not hear of me sitting alone in the gardens with my sewing. He feared that mortals fell sick and died if a stray leaf brushed their skin. I found his concern and precautions regarding our welfare overwhelming. He had persuaded me to his study chambers, saying that Melian and he would be glad of the company. 

Except for the formal greetings when we passed each other in the corridors, Melian and I had never spoken at length. I was curious to know more about the famed Maia whose enchantment held Doriath safe. How surprised I had been to find that Melian and Thingol were as any other long-married couple, able to communicate through glances and gestures as easily as through words!

Thingol now came to stand by her side, his face drawn and grim. He shot me a glance and then probably deciding that my listening was not as sharp as those of Elves, he asked her quietly, “Has there been a reply from Maglor about our offer to trade the jewel for unity?”

“There was a letter from him for Galadriel,” Melian said in her low, clear voice. “There were none addressed to us. He has not forgiven us for…” She paused and returned to the letter she had been perusing.

Thingol cursed and stormed out of the chamber, his face a study in turmoil. I knew the expression well. I had seen it more often than I had wished to. Melian sighed and folded the letter she had been reading. When she looked up at me, I paused my knitting and met her gaze uneasily. 

“I do apologize on the King’s behalf,” she said with a wan smile. “Time and circumstance have been unkind to him.”

“I understand, Lady,” I said hastily, wondering why she felt compelled to apologize to someone who was all but a refugee without means and claims. Also, I understood. My husband, my lands, my people, my dead secondborn and my son; time and circumstance had not been kind to me. 

“Call me by name, Morwen. I am used to Galadriel’s company. She does not address anyone by title.”

“I look forward to meeting her. The tales I hear of her are intriguing.” 

Melian laughed, the first time I was fortunate to hear the sound. It was low, silvery and husky as the intimate gurgle of a running stream through a cascade of rocks. When mirth took her, those clear eyes sparkled and neat, spidery lines crinkled the corners of her eyes. She was more beautiful than any other woman I had seen, a potent mixture of physical loveliness and deep wisdom. Maybe it was because she remained the only Maia of my acquaintance.

“I can assure you that you shall enjoy her company,” she said, a smile still playing on her lips. “She is a wonderful conversationalist when the mood is upon her.”

“An enigma?” I asked, truly curious. 

My life had been bleak and colourless. Dor-lomin had been a struggle for survival. Doriath was a contained society. I did not know if I would be a bereaved mother yet again. I did not know if I needed to wear widow’s black. Uncertainties plagued my life. 

“Is everyone not an enigma?” She set her correspondence away and clasped her fingers thoughtfully, leaning against the plush head of the chair she graced. 

I thought of Aerin, my dear friend, who had aided me survive the perils of my homeland and then helped me travel to Doriath. She had been an enigma. She had married an Easterling and helped her family and friends instead of defying the invaders like many women had. Her husband treated her well, or so she had always told me. 

Melian was still scrutinizing me with her clear, penetrating eyes. The regard was as the summer rain, calm and compassionate. Unlike the bright, sharp eyes of the Noldor who raged their fiery battles with Morgoth outside the Girdle, Melian’s gaze embodied peace.

“True,” I agreed quietly. Then bitterness took me and I whispered, “No greater enigma in my life than my self-loathing son. Túrin!” I lost composure and calm. “How he wounds his kin and kith with carelessness and pride!”

“It is not his doing entirely.” Melian rose from her seat and walked to my side. She placed her fingers on my cheeks and said, “He will return to us. My husband considers him fosterling, and so do I. Even if he will not come for us, he shall come for you.”

“He was a sweet child…he loved his sister so. When she died, he never recovered from the loss. Caught in my grief, I could not heal his young heart nor could I convince him that he had not failed in his self-appointed duty in keeping watch over her. I fear that has cast a permanent shadow of self-hatred in his mind.”

“I was lost to grief and could offer my husband no comfort when we mourned our daughter’s passing.” She knelt before me and drew my chin so that our eyes met. The wealth of compassion and understanding in her gaze undid me. 

“Yet death comes less frequent to the halls of the immortals than to the homesteads of my kind,” I said angrily. It was unfair. My husband was lost to me because of the oaths sworn by these immortals. Now my son followed the same, bitter path. 

“Death strikes us, Morwen. The death of Felagund, loved by your race, has caused much grief in this family. Galadriel has lost all her brothers to their family’s cause, as well as many of her dear cousins. Oropher lost his parents both early in his life. Death haunts us all.”

“But you have the promise of a life renewed! Neither my husband nor my dead daughter will have that.” My voice broke and long-suppressed grief surfaced finally.

“Morwen!” She embraced me, the gesture enfolding my senses in the calming scent of her. Her voice shook as she spoke again. “Beren told me that the Gift of Men is hallowed. Peace you shall have and happiness, at the end of our journey. That is not willed to us. We toil and we remember.”

“Thank you for taking us in,” I said bleakly. “We would have been slaughtered or captured else.”

“We are kin, are we not, through my daughter’s marriage?” She folded her legs and sat down on the plush carpet. For once, her features were unmarred by deep thoughts and I saw her as a woman, a woman who had married, given birth and grieved the loss of her child; a woman like me.

“Why did you come here?” I asked, my curiosity given strength by her warm words. “To remain in the west was easier.”

She played with the frayed ends of the carpet, reminding me of Húrin who used to do the same with his tunic when immersed in thought. I gulped at the pang of misery brought on by that wave of the past and resolutely forced my features to betray nothing.

When she spoke, her tone held a quiet, exquisite undercurrent of pain and regret. “I woke to the gold of Laurelin. I walked amid the blooms of Lórien and sang with the nightingales.”

“I don’t think I would have given up such a life to come and toil here,” I remarked, curious about what motive had made her do so.

She nodded and continued, “I was content and would have bided there forever.” 

A haunted expression marred her beauty and she seemed younger and frailer all of a sudden. So powerful was the transformation from wisdom to doubt that I felt compelled to place my right hand on her brow, daring a tentative brush along the smooth skin with my clumsy, calloused fingers. 

“Yet deceit walks even amongst those hallowed by Eru.” 

Her words were so inaudible that I had to lean in to catch them. When she brought her eyes to mine; willing me to understand what lay unspoken, I could not help the chords of memory that recalled my husband acting thus when he referred to his past. Was he yet alive? I shuddered. I felt disloyal, ensconced as I was in the safety of Doriath, while he endured the worst. Then I was pulled back to the present by the veiled gaze of Melian the Maia. She looked shaken, with her fingers pulling at the loose threads of the carpet restlessly. I felt kinship with her, not that of blood, but of experience.

“Were you hurt?” I asked in a hushed voice. 

She dropped her eyes to her fingers and continued in a hesitant tone, “I ran away from them. I came east. Elu married me. Together, we crafted into reality the dream of a realm away from the yoke of the Valar. Lúthien was a boon. I had never known such bliss.”

I observed the continued use of the past tense. She had lost Lúthien. Had that loss broken her irreparably? I had lost children and husband. All that was left to me was my daughter, Nienor. 

“The King loves you,” I offered.

“Of course, he does.” She smiled wanly. “As I love him. But our love and our passion cooled into friendship and casual intimacy after Lúthien’s birth. Our interests did not overlap.”

Shocked by her frank statement, I sat back, dropping my hand from her forehead as I did so. A flash of alien emotion coloured her eyes before she hid it. 

“It is not done in our race, infidelity,” I said, appalled by the very idea.

“Then you are indeed born to the better race,” she said quietly. A swallow graced her throat before she composed herself and rose to her feet. “I shall now take my leave. I fear I spoke more than I ought to have. Accept my apologies.”

She turned away and began to walk towards the door, her steps lacking of their usual grace and confidence. I took a deep breath and began to apologize for my presumptuous judgement, but she had already left, closing the door behind her with a soft thud.

* * *

“Warrior’s comfort?” I asked my smug husband in horror. “Married men seeking others during war?”

“It is one of their practices.” He nibbled on my earlobe tenderly, making me moan in pleasure. “Those of my house who served in Barad Eithel were intimately acquainted with it. Anything to make a warm night in cold Beleriand, I daresay. Their traditions are theirs, and let us not judge them.”

“I suppose you are right. The poor men are taken away from their homes for long years. Húrin!” I hissed as his fingers ran down my spine. 

“Indeed, the greater reason why we should enjoy ourselves tonight as much as we can, love. I, for one, have no intentions of getting comforted by fellow warriors. Your heat and then the memories of it would suffice.”

And I had lost myself to the dark pleasure of passion. Demanding he was, and yet gentle, taking and giving as never before, as if he had a premonition that he would never hold me thus again.

* * *

I thought of Melian. I owed her an apology. As my husband had rightly said, their traditions were their own. I put aside my sewing and banked the fire before stepping out of the chamber. I set out to find her. It was not a difficult task at all, for I heard raised voices in the corridor but a turn from my path. 

“Elu, please, you cannot drive yourself so!”

“I don’t understand what you imply. I am perfectly able to fend for myself.”

“I know it was Maglor’s letter that has you in such fell spirits!” Melian continued bravely. “You are grieved that they think you responsible for Finrod’s -” 

“Don’t speak that name again in my presence!” he shouted, rage and raw grief tearing down his refined voice. “And don’t bring up the doings of the wretched Noldor ever again. I have had enough of them; kinslayers, thieves, trouble-mongers, philanderers and libertines who will deliver us all to Angband!” 

“Elu, please.” Soothing tones desperately employed to calm him. “Your grief is eating you inside out. Can you not speak with me? You always used to. I still come to you with my fears.”

“Don’t press me tonight, Melian!” he ranted. “Away, to your pleasures and distractions! I deny you nothing, do I? Go and seduce your protégé from Dor-lomin. All I ask is that you leave me in peace this night!”

I cringed when I heard the sentence about seducing me. It was as well that I was alone in the corridor, for I blushed a deep crimson. The very idea disgusted me. 

“If you want me-”

“No, I don’t!” Thingol said sharply.

After footsteps stormed away, I heard a woman’s sigh. I shifted from one foot to another, wondering if I should turn back or seek her and admit that I had overheard the wretched conversation. The question was resolved for me when she walked beyond the turn that had separated us. Our gazes met. For a moment, she stood still, numbed and shocked. Then a high flush of embarrassment coloured her features and her fingers came to clasp the brooch adorning her garments. 

“I am sorry,” I offered hastily, trying to dispel the uneasiness that lay between us. “I did not intend to eavesdrop. I had come to offer my apologies for the rash judgement I had made earlier.”

A broken sob was her only reply before she turned away, her eyes shining in misery and sorrow. Such a portrait of defeat I had never before seen in my existence and pity stirred my heart. I stepped to her side and gently drew her into my embrace. She did not resist. Pride was not among her vices. 

“It will be all right,” I said. I did not know what was wrong. Something to do with Finrod’s death and the reasons behind that, I had gleaned from their argument. 

“I cannot help him,” she whispered, burying her face on my shoulder. “He is my dearest friend and I cannot help him.”

“We can’t always help others.”

I knew that sounded absurd, but it was all that I had to offer her and it was the truth. I had no means to help my son or my beloved husband. Many matters were beyond our ken.

I ran my fingers through her hair, soothing her as I had soothed my children when they had been young and in need of their mother’s embrace. She inhaled and stepped back, her eyes shimmering with tears that glistened in the firelight of the torches. 

“I did not mean to-” She gestured clumsily in the direction of the passage where she had argued with Thingol. 

“I know,” I assured her. “You have never treated me dishonourably. If you knew but half of the sordid tales of the Easterlings who demanded me in their bed for continued freedom…” 

Her eyes widened in horror and she said quietly, ““Of all things upon earth that bleed and grow, a herb most bruised is woman.”

“Quite,” I agreed. “But I beg you, retire now and find some rest. Doriath needs her Queen, come dawn. You hold the last leaguer against our foe.”

“I cannot go on,” she said, looking disturbed. “My will fades and my blood hearkens to the sea. Only for Elu do I remain.” 

“I pray that you shall not need to go west. Many have you succoured and many yet shall be saved by your grace and wisdom. The lands need you, Melian. The Girdle is the last bastion of Beleriand.”

She lifted a finger and gently touched the mole on my cheek that stood out against the fairness of my complexion. Fear inflamed me, but it was accompanied by an equal measure of pity. When she met my gaze, there was only yearning; a silent plea. My resistance crumbled and I drew her to me, throwing my disgust to the winds. 

Later that night, I watched her features in repose. The sight stirred instinctive dislike, regret and self-loathing. But when she shifted unconsciously to seek my body’s heat, I was overwhelmed and humbled by her trust and need. In my arms, without barriers, her mien had held nothing of her queenly grace and deep wisdom. There had been only loneliness in her tormented eyes. Too much had she given of herself to these lands and had received only paltry dues in return. 

Fate was not fair even to Melian the Maia.

* * *

The days in Doriath passed as a fleeting spring. Melian remained the steady, compassionate ruler. Thingol deteriorated from grief into paranoia. His resentment for the race of the Noldor increased thrice over and he would hear of no truce. In Celeborn, he found a sympathetic companion in this matter. 

“Why did you break the seal of a letter addressed to me?” 

Galadriel stormed into the arbour where we sat one fine evening. Celeborn and Oropher were discussing a hunt. Thingol was teaching my daughter to find her way by the stars. Melian and Beleg were quietly working together on the accounts. I had been playing with young Celebrían, who was such a delight. 

“Galadriel?” Celeborn frowned in displeasure. 

Interactions between them were always a sight to behold. More than once, I had pitied Celeborn, for anyone with an unbiased eye could realize that Galadriel’s spirit surpassed that of her husband. But I had to admire the woman; the way she held her head high despite the lack of supporters, kin and kith was truly surprising.

“My letter from Macalaurë!” she continued angrily, waving an unsealed parchment before us. “Why did you open it?”

“I am your husband, after all!” Celeborn said mildly, coming to take her arm and leading her with gentle force to a seat by Melian’s side. “Are there secrets between us?”

She narrowed her eyes and rose saying, “I am no fool, Celeborn. I know that the letter was opened in court. I do not wish my correspondence rifled through by the sycophantic idiots who constitute the famed council of Menegroth.”

Celebrían whimpered and crept onto my lap, frightened by her parents’ discord. I wondered when Galadriel would realize the effect of these arguments on her daughter. 

“Galadriel,” Elu Thingol began, looking very displeased. “Your words accuse a noble institution.”

“I understand that you are trying to forget my brother by warping what was once love into hate.” She turned to face him, her blue eyes flashing dangerously. “You can choose your method to make peace with fate, I do not care. But,” she included us in one fiery glare, “if I find yet another letter from my cousins opened without my consent, rest assured that I will not play the blind fool.”

Her exit was as stormy as her arrival. We sat there and looked at each other in dazed astonishment while birds that had flown away hastily returned to the glade and the chirping renewed.

“Infuriating, arrogant, pesky, unbearable, touchy, snobbish, paranoid woman!” Celeborn rallied his spirits in one long, mighty sentence and finished with a deep exhalation.

“Then why did you insist on marrying her?” Melian asked him, exchanging an amused glance with me.

“Because she is my mother!” Celebrían said firmly before her father could even come up with a reply.

“’Bría, you are my daughter. Your mother is usually too busy to remember that she is your mother,” Celeborn said petulantly and came to seize the child from its perch on my lap before striding away.

I could see the signs of turmoil in the girl. She was already forced to choose sides during these quarrels. There was Galadriel who did not care in the least for anyone’s approval. There was Celeborn who excelled in presenting a virtuous image before one and all. Who would ultimately win Celebrían’s loyalty?

* * *

“Why did they marry?” I asked Melian after we had retired for the night. 

She turned to face me and covered my neck with soft, languid kisses before remarking, “They were both insanely in love. They still are.”

“They are not likely to survive each other if they continue fighting like this,” I said, torn between true concern and amusement at their plight.

“Oh, they will. Mandos will think twice before taking them to his abode. The chaos they will take along with them is not worth the trouble.” 

Melian rolled atop me and sought my mouth. When I parted my lips and sought to fight her tongue, she yielded, as she always did. She was made to be loved; pliant and giving as nature itself. I gripped her shoulders and kissed her collarbone. She moaned, and her tears slid down onto my cheeks.

“Why do you cry during these times? Are you unhappy with what we have?” I asked her softly, as she clung to my body like a limpet.

It took a few moments for the haze to leave her eyes. But when she was recovered, she replied thoughtfully, “In your arms, I have known happiness. Perhaps it is the sheer novelty of that feeling which makes me cry. Do you mind?”

“I worry only if you are unhappy.” I kissed her brow. 

“And you?” Her gaze fixed me to stillness.

I pondered the question for barely a moment before answering, “If I had known you before I had met my husband, I would be happy. It grieves me that my husband bears torment while I find comfort in your arms and that I love what I have with you.”

“Do you hate me?” 

She did not meet my gaze then, choosing to examine the intricate design of her gown that lay discarded upon the cold floor. I thought of proud Galadriel who would never voice her frailties even if that silence cost her all. Melian was braver, or perhaps it was her lack of pride. She had bared herself vulnerable to me. 

“I don’t hate you. On the contrary.” I turned her chin to let our eyes meet. Shadowed hope there was, and deep loneliness. “I will be yours until the Black Foe’s curse on my family takes me away from you. That doom, I cannot prevent.”

“I will sail west after it comes to fruition,” she said hollowly, her face a mask of pain. “I cannot bear to watch more.”

“Such things are far away in the future,” I said reassuringly. “For now, be my sin.”

She raised her eyebrows at my jesting tones. Then a wistful smile graced her full lips and she nodded. 

Then there was only the slickness of passion and the whispered words reaffirming loyalty and devotion. That was enough.

* * *


	5. The Queen's Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Mablung is well-hung and Melian likes that.

Mablung saw more than most did. He knew the woman behind the queenly façade. Friend, knight, fellow conspirator, student, occasional paramour, bedrock, emissary and undertaker, Mablung was all that and more to Melian. 

The story spans the entire era of Melian’s rule in Doriath and is likely to be disappointingly vague, given that my strength is not data compression.

People, politics and psychology.

* * *

“Melyanna!” 

It was Galadriel, looking pale and haunted. 

“What is it?” Melian asked.

Sounds of fray reached our ears and she rose in consternation. 

“The King is dead.”

Galadriel offered no prevarication to soften the blow of her words. Melian brought her hands to her bosom and uttered a silent gasp of anguish.

* * *

**The Rule of Six**

Summary:- The Melian Arc of Sunset. Six stand-alone stories that show various stages in the life of Melian the Maia. Warnings include homosexual content(femslash), heterosexual content, violence, character death, first draft and canon tweaking. 

Beta: Rhapsody, revisions after she recovers.

* * *

****

The Queen's Man

When first Menelmacar strode up the sky and the blue fires of Helluin flickered in the mists above the borders of the world, in that hour the Children of the Earth awoke, the Firstborn of Ilúvatar. By the starlit mere of Cuiviénen, Water of Awakening, we rose from the sleep of Ilúvatar; and while we dwelt yet silent by Cuiviénen our eyes beheld first of all things the stars of heaven. Therefore we have ever loved the starlight, and have revered Varda Elentári above all the Valar.

Thus it was for all but I. Reverence to the Queen of the Stars I accorded, but it measured not equal to the fealty I willingly placed at the feet of one who was the Queen of my heart.

* * *

Tolerance of the strange woman whom Elu had espoused in circumstances unknown grew into indifferent acceptance. She was softspoken and beautiful, a woman as any other I had seen, wife of my lord. Then came the hunt, and Saeros was brought to us wounded by one of the Enemy’s minions. We had despaired for his life, and she had come to the pallet on which he lay. 

Before our eyes she cast away her cloak of submissive demureness and out emerged the raw power of one of the Ainur. Her beauty surpassed that of the stars and the force of will in her eyes equalled the unnatural intensity that had shined in the gaze of Miriel of the Golodh. Her words stripped away pretenses and her healing touch vanquished the Enemy’s poison. Saeros was returned to us by the Maia.

Indifference turned into fascination as I watched her walk away from the hut. At campfires and dances I began to observe her. She remained within her charming mould of the dutiful wife. Elu doted upon her and the women liked her. Yet, there was her deep bond with Oropher which could not be easily explained. Oropher was not one to judge foolishly. For him to extend friendship and fealty to a stranger, there must have been reasons deep.

* * *

Living as nomads in the wild had become our life. We did not think of settling even though our journeying often lured us into the Enemy’s baits. Wandering under the eaves of the forests, camping by ponds and rivers, gathering the providence of nature, singing to the stars we had woken under and reveling in the simple companionships we shared, we were content to live thus ever. 

Yet Melian dissuaded us from this way of life. She counseled our lord and convinced him about the necessity of settling and building a stronghold. In this endeavour, she was supported ardently by Oropher. Elu had always been inclined to listen to his nephew and Oropher’s aid ensured that Melian’s counsel prevailed.

I was not happy. Life under the stars and the freedom to travel were what I considered the greatest blessing to us who had remained behind. My fascination for Melian turned into resentment and I decided not to follow my lord to the new settlement. Then it was that she sought me out.

I had been swimming alone in a pond not far from the day’s camp. So deep had I been in my musings that I did not hear her arrival. 

“Mablung,” she said softly.

I turned to face her and inclined my head in acknowledgement. She remained standing upon the shore, her eyes modestly fixed upon my crown of hair. I debated coming out of the water and cladding myself in deference to chivalry. But my resentment prevailed and I stayed where I was.

“I have no ulterior motive in leading your people to Doriath. There shall be days ahead when safety lies in concealment.”

Her words were carefully chosen and shrouded in enigma. I frowned and asked her, “How do you know that? There is danger. There is always danger. But we are children of the stars and we cannot live in concealment. We were meant to travel.”

“Even the most restless of eagles return to their eyries at the end of a day.”

“And your eyrie is in the west, Melian. What purpose shall you serve here?”

She stiffened and cast her eyes out to the sweeping treeline to the west before saying quietly, “My purpose lies concealed to my wisdom. But I am loyal to my husband and have only the best interests of his people in mind.”

“I woke beside those who now revel in the bliss of the west. I have endured and I have found that I love the daily struggle for survival. You cannot convince me to give up that.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “Life, to you, is a game, Mablung. As a hunter of fortune, you certainly know that luck shall not grant you safety for eternity.”

I stared at her, perplexed.

“Luck?” I asked.

“Even now, you stand before me because of that.” Her features darkened. “What happened to Galadhon?”

“Celeborn’s father?” I frowned. Celeborn’s parents had led nearly two hundred people west in Elu’s absence. 

“He did not reach even the seashores, Mablung.”

“What happened?” I asked, my heart pounding alarm and terror into my being. Her eyes were now serene and pitiless. Once more I was unconsciously made aware of the power of her race.

“Gorthaur took them to Angband. Perhaps they remain there yet, as thralls or worse.” Compassion there was in her voice, but equally sharp was the loathing she had for the Enemy.

Galadhon had been my friend and confidant. I had loved his sister, Oropher’s mother, whom the accursed Golodh had taken to wife. 

“She was taken,” Melian said quietly.

I cursed and buried my face in my hands. I had loved her. I had wooed her. The Golodh had taken her from me then. I had then tried to be her friend, and her son’s caretaker. But Galadhon had then decided to take his sister west after Oropher and Elu had been lost in the darkness of Elmoth. Then I had convinced myself that she had found peace in the lands where unhappiness had no place. Melian’s words had taken away the blissful dream from me.

“Come with me to Doriath, Mablung.” She extended a graceful hand to me. “I can protect the people with my sorcery. You will do the same with your weapons.”

“Tell me that she is dead, Maia!”

Melian’s enchantment lifted, she sighed, and I saw no sorceress, only a woman burdened.

“Her fate is veiled to me, Mablung. But I swear that I will discern the truth at whatever cost if you shall come with your lord to Doriath.”

* * *

Resentment turned into grudging admiration. She was amongst strangers and yet she did not despair. Quietly, she took over the reins when Elu proved incapable of administration. In Saeros and Beleg, she found counselors. In Oropher, she had a confidant. In Thalion, she found spirit kindred who shared her love for the healing arts. 

And in me, she found a knight. 

We would walk together in the woods, and silence had become pleasurable in her company. Occasionally, I would speak of hunts or court matters. She offered counsel if I asked her, yet she never presumed that I was obliged to act upon her advice. My instinctive dislike for the race of the Naugrim was a source of constant amusement to her and I was often subjected to mild teasing upon the subject. 

Her pregnancy brought us closer. Elu was a warrior and a hunter who preferred the simpler pleasures of life. The pregnancy worried him and an exasperated Melian sent him away on a prolonged hunt in Celeborn’s company. 

I was her aide then. I had cared for Galadhon’s sister when she had borne Oropher and I easily slipped into the role again. Though Melian seemed unwilling to impose upon my time, I won her over by charming persuasion and ensured that she rested and ate. The pregnancy brought down her defences and I saw more of the woman behind the veil. Vague words and vaguer metaphors she used to refer to her past and I grieved for what I read between the lines of her bland remarks. And when she went into labour, her screams and delirious rants revealed more than her words ever would. She called upon Nienna for reprieve and she cursed the lord of dreams in language so profane that Thalion feared for her sanity. 

I held her hand and soothed her brow until the end of the ordeal when came into the world Lúthien, the only child of Thingol and Melian. Though Middle-earth lay for the most part in the Sleep of Yavanna, in Beleriand under the power of Melian there was life and joy, and the bright stars shone as silver fires; and there in the forest of Neldoreth, Lúthien was born, and the white flowers of niphredil came forth to greet her as stars from the earth.

Her coming sealed the bond between Melian and I. Never did we speak of Melian’s delirious words that day. But they lingered betwixt us, evident in her gradually thawing reserve and my vows of fealty to her service.

* * *

Lúthien took after her father; his kindness and gentle nature she inherited. Melian was said to be gentle, but I had seen the suppressed turmoil beneath the calm. 

Then came Eöl to our court. Elu was infatuated by the young woodsman from the farflung provinces of our land. 

“Perhaps Elu needs to feel young again,” Melian remarked in one of our conversations. “I have decided to encourage him in the matter.”

I frowned. Elu and Melian were mutually exclusive when it came to seeking pleasure. Melian loved carnal passion and wisdom. Elu preferred foreplay and equals. I had often found Melian in Saeros’s chambers and Elu in Beleg’s arms. It was one of the well-known secrets of Doriath that both Elu and Melian held true to their bonds of marriage and discarded lovers as dried leaves when their cravings were done with for the time. 

“ Eöl is very young and strongwilled, Melian. If Elu discards him later, as Elu usually does his lovers, Eöl will not take the act lightly.” 

“I have found Eöl wise and eager to learn,” she said thoughtfully.

“I have found him ambitious and insecure.” I sighed. “Elu will have his way, of course. I shall hope that Eol is not disillusioned by the courtlife because of the inevitable.”

“I wonder why Elu has never propositioned you,” she said innocently, her eyes twinkling in merriment.

“I am not one for warriors’ comfort. I prefer women, as you well know from the gossip of your maids.” I glared at her unconvincing display of naiveté and continued, “Besides, I am not senseless enough to dally with Elu. His loyalty to past lovers is eerily similar to Celeborn’s. Fickle.”

“You remain the shining bastion of virtue in our hedonistic court.” She deftly swerved her head away from a light punch of mine. 

“Are you trying to proposition me?” I enquired, not at all serious.

More than innocent interest gleamed in her eyes before she said quietly, “I cannot lie that it has never crossed my mind.”

I stopped walking and watched numbly as she huffed and glared at me. I had never thought the concept remotely feasible. We were friends and I had never allowed myself to look upon her with desire.

“Are you teasing me?”

She muttered something about my thickheadedness and said, vexed, “Have you never seen yourself? You are likely to have featured in any person’s fantasy at least once.”

I flushed crimson at her rather crude words. Her eyes twinkled again in amusement before she said kindly, “You are handsome, Mablung. Everyone finds you attractive, I daresay. I know I have been charmed from the very moment I laid my eyes on your unclad form in the pond that day.”

I shook my head in rising embarrassment. Never before had I been so boldly propositioned. I noticed her swanlike neck and her elegant curves. A flare of poisonous desire sped through my body and I scowled at her. She laughed and held out her hand. I cursed before grabbing it and pulling her to me. 

Addictive, she was.

* * *

The Golodhrim came to Beleriand. I had occasional meetings with their princes during hunts that coincided. Melian was eager to have tidings of their doings and I often obliged by riding out to spy on them. I was fascinated myself by their endurance and determination.

When they invited us to a grand feast, Elu asked Daeron and I to go. Before our departure, I went to Melian.

“Take care to look less handsome,” she teased me as we lounged in her large bed. “They might not let you return.”

“Will you ever stop teasing me about my notorious charm?” I complained, too content to attempt but the mildest of glares. 

“They have their prince returned to them,” she continued thoughtfully. 

I stiffened and met her gaze. I had heard of the prince who had been taken captive by the Enemy. I had prayed for his death, as had all of my fellowmen. I had thought of my poor love and of Galadhon. Better that the prince died instead of enduring the yoke of Angband.

“He was not dead?” I asked, frightened. “He was not insane? He was not morphed?”

“I know not.” Melian sighed. “You will look upon him and draw your conclusions, Mablung. Help him if you can.”

“How can I help him?” I asked, bewildered. “He might not even attend the feast.”

“He shall.” Melian’s gaze turned introspective. “Tell me of him when you return, my handsome knight. Ask him about Galadhon and his sister. He might know.”

* * *

The Golodh loved luxury and decadence. I felt ill at home amongst them. Daeron was with the minstrels and did not accompany me oft. Left to my own devices, I wandered in the woods surrounding the Mithrim only to find to my mortification that the said woods were the favoured trysting grounds for many of the Golodhrim. So I retreated to the periphery of the camp.

“My handsome friend, you seem lost.” A teasing voice heralded the arm that twined through my left hand. 

I looked up at the dark features of the Golodh who accompanied me. A circlet sat proud upon his forehead and I knew he was a prince of their people.

“Caranthir, in your tongue, and Carnistro in mine,” he offered with a wink. “And would you be Singollo’s special gift to his kin who have from the west?”

Besides my embarrassment at his teasing, I found myself liking him. His sense of humour reminded me of Melian’s own. 

“Merely an emissary from Doriath, prince. Mablung, commander on the borders of Doriath.” I sketched a cursory bow.

“Unless you wish to end up in the camp of the Naugrim, you had better retrace your steps, Mablung of Doriath.”

“I profess no liking of their race,” I admitted, discerning a knowing gleam in his eyes. “Yet you speak of them with no malice.”

“I don’t dislike dourness,” he remarked. 

We walked, with I content to accompany him. He spoke merrily, though darkness lingered in his eyes that spoke of something endured and mourned still. We reached the training fields and there it seemed but natural when he invited me for a round of sparring. 

The mutually enjoyable hour passed by too rapidly and I cast my eyes out to take in the other occupants of the field. Something akin to horror and pity must have surfaced on my countenance abruptly for Caranthir stayed his sword and flicked his eyes anxiously in the direction of my stricken gaze.

Leaning against the fence that demarcated one field from the other, languid and boneless in the afternoon sun, was a man marred by disfiguration and ridden by sorrow. He was speaking placidly with a strikingly pale companion.

“My brothers,” Caranthir said grimly. “Shall I lead you to the guests’ side of the camp, Mablung? This area is out of bounds to those exclusive to the family.”

And I could well understand why it was out of bounds. Spurred unconsciously by familiarity, the right hand which existed not came up briskly to sweep away the unruly mattress of red that playfully rose with the wind. I winced in sympathy and Caranthir sighed as the stump was lowered and a clumsy left hand rose to complete the task that would be solely its lot till the breaking of the worlds. 

Melian would have wept for the prince, I knew. She had grieved for his ordeal, hearing what we did from those tidings that had come to us in Doriath. But to look upon his marred form would have broken her heart. I resolved not to tell her about the prince.

* * *

Later, I watched with fascination as the charade of dispossession played out in their court. I noticed the strange attachment between the prince and Fingon. Something about their interactions made me wary and unsettled. Tired of the Golodhrim intrigues, I walked to the woods again.

The prince came alone to the woods, frustrated beyond words and yet accepting of fate. He was an enigma to me, as Melian remained even now. I decided to take my chance and ask him of Galadhon’s people. Certainly he would not deny me the relief of closure if it was in him to provide it.

But when I faced his cold gaze for the first time, I shuddered and willed myself not to step back in fear. Then I saw past the coldness and saw the frailly defended heart beneath. 

“Mablung of Doriath, at your service.”

“I see,” he said quietly, his gaze assessing and thoughtful. “What are you doing here?”

“I was waiting to trap stray princelings.” 

Irritation sparked in the grey eyes, but he did not rise to the taunt, instead waiting for me to explain my presence. Curiosity made me cast my eyes from head to toe of his emaciated form. He was handsome in an unusual manner despite his evident disfigurement. He bore my inspection calmly with no hint of indignation or nervousness. I wondered if I could ever achieve such detachment in the face of maiming and weakness. And I knew instinctively that I could not bear the thought of making him relive the past with my questions about Galadhon.

“Well,” he asked again, “what are you doing here?”

“I was bored by the feasting,” I said frankly. “I came to talk to the trees.”

He was an excellent conversationalist. He was a strange mixture of recklessness and wisdom. He reminded me of Melian in one of her gayer moods. His instinctive need to trust himself to another while still wishing to remain detached of mind was seduction all in itself. How else could I explain my sudden thawing towards my own gender when I had preferred women all my existence?

Pride he had and passion beyond words, ensuring that our brief interlude would remain etched in my heart till the end. When he lay atop me after exhausting himself, I held him close and traced my fingers wonderingly over the desecrated body which would heal though his heart would not. He came to and curtly bade me go, though peace lingered on his features.

* * *

Melian and I continued our dalliance comfortably upon my return to Doriath. Her restlessness, ever present, increased when the Golodhrim came to Doriath. It was eased by watching with rising amusement her lovestruck husband’s attempts to convey his feelings to a cynical Finrod and the passionately disturbing courting of the proud Galadriel by a determined Celeborn. 

Years passed as they had always done. I became closer to Galadriel though her sharp tongue often made me wince. I would often wistfully listen to her tales about her cousins and my ears would keenly wait for mentions of the prince who had carved a niche in my heart for himself.

Elu pined for Finrod, neglecting duty and pleasure. Celeborn and Oropher assumed charge of the army while Saeros helped Melian with the administration. It was then Beren came through the Girdle. 

Melian had been growing uneasy and had withdrawn into herself. Neither Galadriel nor I could force her to ease her fears by sharing. Beren’s arrival seemed the culmination of prophecies she had once made. Galadriel and Oropher attempted to dissuade Elu from the brideprice he was set on asking. Perhaps Elu felt that he could help his lover’s cause by asking this of a Man whose life he cared for not at all. But I remain convinced that he had not known of the pledge Finrod had made to Barahir. Elu lost the will to live after hearing of Beren’s success and the cost it had claimed. The stench of doom overhung Doriath and Melian’s power waned.

* * *

Letters came to Doriath from the princes of the Golodh, letters addressed to Galadriel, their cousin. We heard of the great union orchestrated by the Lord of Himring. Dreams came to me, dreams that showed me terrible images of the enemy’s minions revelling in their capture of the prince. 

“I wish to fight in the alliance,” I told Elu.

He hated the Golodh now. Perhaps he found life bearable by creating illusions of his own to dwell in. He refused my plea. 

But Melian saw my need to go. She convinced Elu and I was allowed to fight with my company under Fingon’s banner. Galadriel gave me letters of introduction to her cousin. Her words carried sway when I finally met Fingon and I was permitted to fight under his banner. 

Great deeds were done by those of my company in the eve of defeat and we survived the war. I had taken care to keep an eye on the reckless fool who seemed to consider it his sworn obligation to return to the tender hospitality of Angband. He recognised me when I pulled him out of a tight spot hemmed in by the enemy. Gratitude and understanding shone in those eyes that had blazed with white fire when in the fray. 

I could have stayed with the retreat and asked him about Galadhon’s fate. But I no longer wanted to hear the truth from him, if truth he knew. In my heart, I knew that Oropher’s mother, my first love, was still alive. I did not want to hear the rest of her tale.

* * *

Elu and Melian fostered Túrin for Beren’s sake. As the doom of Húrin hunted his children in the coming years, Melian had little to rejoice in except the respite she had found with Morwen, the refugee. 

The Nauglamír of Finrod was returned to Doriath by Húrin when he was escorted to the King. Elu seized the gift with desperation and bid the Silmaril be placed in the necklace. The Dwarves were brought in to work on the task and Elu spent hours on end with them, reluctant as he was to leave the jewel and his beloved’s necklace out of his eyesight.

 

“Melyanna!” 

It was Galadriel, looking pale and haunted. 

“What is it?” Melian asked in concern.

Sounds of fray reached our ears and Melian rose in consternation. 

“The King is dead.”

Galadriel offered no prevarication to soften the blow of her words. Melian brought her hands to her bosom and uttered a silent gasp of anguish. 

Blood washed the cavefloor. Melian nodded to me silently before fetching what was needed. Together, she and I embalmed the body of the man who had been husband, King and friend to her. Her tears were held back by restraint, but the pall on her features told me that she would bide no longer in Doriath. The love she bore Elu had not been the love her daughter bore Beren. But love was yet love and Elu had been Melian’s purpose in Middle Earth.

Galadriel had taken command of the administration. She sent for Beren’s folk and recalled Celeborn from the borders. Preparations were made, messages were sent to those that mattered and the funeral was arranged. 

Oropher lit the pyre, being the closest among those present to Elu in kinship. The Silmaril and the Nauglamír were reclaimed. Dior took the throne of Doriath.

Melian left the realm where she had succoured a tribe of nomads for years unnumbered. I escorted her to the shores of the sundering sea. There had been no words needed as to her destination. We had both known that she would return to the west as the eagles hasten to their eyries at the end of the day.

* * *

Before she left, she visited a stronghold of the Golodh where lived now the former prince of Himring. I remained with our horses, not possessing the strength to speak with him again. I closed my eyes as he walked her back to the clearing where I waited. 

“I will do what it takes,” she was saying quietly, her soft voice ringing with steely determination. “But I cannot wage a lonely war. Nienna shall aid me. Yet there are other forces to be reckoned with.”

“You need only ensure what I asked of you,” he said. “Artanis and Macalaurë shall do the rest.”

“There are no certainties in this reckless scheme of yours.” Melian sighed. “Begging Manwë would be easier.”

“I will ensure that Varda shall shield your doings from discovery by Manwë.”

“How can you achieve that end? Varda is purity and will not aid us.”

“Even the finest are flawed, Melyanna.”

“You claim to know her flaw then?” Disbelief coloured her voice.

“She and I share a flaw,” he laughed softly, though the sound was mirthless. “You will have your revenge if you shall do as I ask.”

“Very well then,” she sighed. “You have my word. Until we meet upon the white shores of Aman, Prince.”

“We shall not meet again, Melyanna.”

I knew that he spoke the truth. I shivered in premonition and felt hope wither in my heart. I had lost Galadhon’s sister to the enemy. I had lost Melian to fate. I would lose Maedhros to his curse.

* * *

We stood upon the sands deserted even by the crabs that had once thrived there. An era had come to its silent culmination, the era of Melian. Now with me she tarried yet awhile on the shore, silence for the first time uneasy betwixt us, and our gazes unwilling to meet. 

“Strange, is it not, that I have achieved all that I did without the providence of the Valar and yet I must return to cast myself upon their whims?” 

Her noble features lent a canvas to her emotions, and I found that I could not bear to look upon the dearly loved face which bore such depth of turmoil. 

“Shall I see you again?” I asked her quietly.

She shook her head, her eyes cast one last time to the east, to the lands that she had come to succour and serve. I extended my hand to her for one final embrace of parting and she shook her head again. 

“It is over, my dearest friend.”

Her voice faded to nothing. She was ethereal in the last rays of dusk. I closed my eyes and walked away. 

And she vanished out of Middle-earth, and passed to the land of the Valar beyond the western sea, to muse upon her sorrows in the gardens of Lórien, whence she came, and this tale speaks of her no more.

* * *


	6. A King, Conquered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ulmo is content. Having Melian around is good for that.

The happy ending, as promised under threat of a rack. Consider this one of the very many happy endings I will try to write in compensation for the Maedhros disaster.

 

“Here we part then,” he said quietly.

“It is not a parting, Manwë. Paths converge often.”

“Ours shall not. Melyanna has ensured that.”

 

 

Summary:- The Melian Arc of Sunset. Six stand-alone stories that show various stages in the life of Melian the Maia. Warnings include homosexual content(femslash), heterosexual content, violence, character death, first draft and canon tweaking. 

Beta: Rhapsody, revisions after she recovers. 

 

Warnings: Adult for heterosexual content. Large scale conspiracy – you are aware I have a crazy plot.

* * *

****

A King, Conquered

Ulmo is the Lord of Waters. He is alone. He dwells nowhere long, but moves as he will in all the deep waters about the Earth or under the Earth. He is next in might to Manwë and he has no need of any resting-place. Moreover he does not love to walk upon land, and will seldom clothe himself in a body after the manner of his peers. 

I am he. I am the Lord of Waters. I am alone. I am the King of the Sea, unconquered and untamed as the sea herself.

* * *

Recent times had seen discord fester between my old friend, Manwë, and I. His wrath was destroying Quendi and Edain in the East. I would have no part in the bloodshed and he despised me for what he considered my softheartedness. Perhaps it indeed was that. But I was the only one amongst the Valar who saw the tragedies wrought in the wake of Varda’s folly. I grieved for the Children of the Earth, even as Nienna did. Yet, unlike Nienna, my grief gave me the strength to act as I saw fit to aid their cause. 

There was Círdan, beloved to my waters. Him I favoured and his vessels I harmed not. There had been Turkano, lonely and determined, who had dwelt in Nevrast trying to find succour from Varda. Varda had not heard his pleas. But I had. I came to him in his dreams and asked him to build the Hidden City. I promised him succour. I would have to find a way to grant him that, though I could not do so with Manwë’s discerning mind fixed on the waters I ruled. I would bide my time.

* * *

“What is your tale, Melyanna?” Manwë was now questioning the widowed Maia who had returned to us from her toils in the east.

“Let her be,” Nienna intervened swiftly. “She shall bide with me in my walls until she has recovered and then she will speak before the council of the Valar.”

“My dear Nienna,” Irmo rose to his feet smoothly, his gaze compassionate as he looked down upon the shivering Maia who awaited judgement. “Let me take her to my gardens. The nightingales shall welcome her and the peace of my tranquil dreams shall soothe her troubled mind. She is a child of Lórien and should return there.”

“She studied under my tutelage and I have a responsibility towards my charge,” Nienna said firmly. “My halls shall welcome her presence.”

“She grieves and you would have her grieve more in your eternal abode of tears?” Irmo enquired sardonically. 

I withheld my breath as Nienna’s eyes flashed in anger. She wept for what Varda’s folly had wreaked upon the lesser kindreds. Irmo did not understand the suffering on Middle Earth. None of the Valar but Nienna and I understood. Nienna had always seen more than the rest. And I, I loved both Quendi and Edain, and never abandoned them, not even when they lay under the wrath of the Valar. At times I would come unseen to the shores of Middle-earth, or pass far inland up firths of the sea, and there make music upon my horns, the Ulumúri, that are wrought of white shell; and those to whom that music comes hear it ever after in their hearts, and longing for the sea never leaves them again. But mostly I speak to those who dwell in Middle-earth with voices that are heard only as the music of water. For all seas, lakes, rivers, fountains and springs are in my government; so that the Quendi say that my spirit runs in all the veins of the world. Thus news comes to me, even in the deeps, of all the needs and griefs of Arda.

“Tell me not that in your industrious creation of dreams you saw naught of the grief that plagues the Quendi whom we banished!” Nienna exclaimed.

“Grief is willed to them in the path they chose,” Manwë said quietly. “We cannot do anything to aid them.”

“Then they are indeed forsaken?” I asked, disturbed by the calm platitude my friend of old had offered. 

“Succour is but a thought away,” Námo said softly. “Ulmo, all that they need do is repent.”

“Repent and die, so that they may be imprisoned within the halls of Mandos with no afterlife granted?” Nienna scoffed.

“Better Mandos than the Void,” Varda spoke near inaudibly, grief for her folly marring her countenance. “If they repented enough, perhaps we may intercede and plead for their reincarnation in Valinor.”

“They will not repent,” I cut in frankly. “You may have turned away your ears from their pleas and your eyes from their grief. But I have seen. Manwë, did not Nelyafinwë beg you for reprieve, did not he plead for death?”

“He was made delirious by suffering. I hardly think he meant his subjugation to our judgement,” Irmo said disdainfully. “He is blasphemy given form. Was he not preaching heresy in Tirion and endorsing carnality among bloodkin?”

“What happens between consenting souls is not anyone’s concern, my lord Irmo.”

The voice was feeble and shaking. But it held determination and courage untarnished. Melyanna had changed from the demure woman she had been in the Age of Bliss in these lands. Middle-Earth had shaped her into another.

“Melyanna.” 

Irmo’s voice caressed the name and she trembled. I frowned in perplexity as Nienna glared at Irmo and Vaire placed a soothing hand on Este’s wrist. 

“You support the blasphemer’s views?” Irmo continued softly.

Melyanna did not meet his gaze. Instead, she looked up into Manwë’s forbidding visage and whispered, “They will all die if you shall not succour them, my lord. You must save the innocent victims who are caught between your wrath and a family’s pride.”

“When the time is right, my lord shall succour them,” Varda intervened before Manwë could reply. “You may rest and find your peace again, Melyanna. Worry not about what is not in your power to change.”

“I agree with Lady Varda.” 

Aule was quick to add his support. I pitied him. He endeavoured ceaselessly to aid the family of his dearest friend. But everyone knew where his loyalty lay and Manwë’s edict had not been kind to Aule. 

“Lórien can help her regain joy,” Irmo said smoothly.

“I shall not hear of it.” Nienna did not back down.

Manwë sighed before saying, “Let Nienna take her to the halls of tears.”

Thus the council ended. But I had seen the fissure developing in our midst. Nienna had not allowed Irmo victory. Námo had been torn between his brother and sister, opting wisely to stay clear of the argument. Varda was a spectre of what she had once been, and her heart was in the east with Melkor. I feared that the curse on the house of Finwe would bring us all down. I had seen the determination and fearlessness in the hearts of the scions of Finwe who waged war in the east. Their fire would not be easily quelled. Caught between their recklessness and our wrath, what would Middle-Earth and its innocent peoples come to?

* * *

The halls of Nienna abutted the sea at the westernmost point. I had never been fond of the grim place, preferring to travel in the eastern regions of my domain. But I was curious to see what had compelled Nienna to bring her former apprentice here. 

Nienna was not one to be swayed by beauty or wisdom. She preferred loneliness, almost as much as I did. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that Tulkas had espoused Nessa after dallying with Nienna. Yavanna and Aule had often tried to bring in concord between Nienna and I, since we were both alone. It had always failed. Nienna preferred her halls and I preferred my seas. 

The Maia was walking on the shore, her hair flying east in the wind. Her eyes were vacant of life and her cheeks stained with tears. I sighed and the sea rumbled. Perhaps Irmo should have taken her to Lórien. Nienna had not provided the poor soul succour at all.

“How can you bear it?” she whispered, coming to kneel before the lapping water. “They come to the shores and cry for deliverance. How can you remain silent and do nothing in the face of their torment?”

I listened in horror as she spoke of the events that had transpired in the lands beyond the sea. Much I knew, but my knowledge paled in comparison to the account of one who had lived through those events. 

“I fled east to find peace!” she exclaimed in sorrow. “And I found a lost race struggling for survival. Innocent souls captured by the Hunter and taken into thralldom in Angband! Beleriand is defended by the blood and will of those whom you banished and doomed! My powers did not suffice to keep the darkness away from the peace loving people of my dead husband! It was never enough. I gave them my all. Yet I could not save them. Ulmo, to whom all of Arda is dear!”

Her words stirred my long placid heart and I rose from the sea and stepped onto the land of my own choosing for the first time after Valinor had been made. If the Children of Eru beheld me they were filled with a great dread; for the arising of the King of the Sea was terrible, as a mounting wave that strides to the land, with dark helm foam-crested and raiment of mail shimmering from silver down into shadows of green. The trumpets of Manwë are loud, but my voice is deep as the deeps of the ocean which I only have seen.

“You called for my aid,” I asked in my deep voice and she hastily rose to her feet, unconsciously retreating by a few steps.

Seeing her frightened, pale expression, I softened my mien and asked gently, “Why did you call me?”

“I was merely thinking aloud,” she whispered frantically, turning around and looking up at the lonely turret where Nienna was usually found.

“You were thinking of me?” I queried amusedly, and she blushed, casting my form a curious glance before returning her gaze to her feet.

“I am sorry to have interrupted your work,” she apologised. “I find it a relief to speak with the sea because it travels to the land beyond the sunder and I feel as if I have not lost my kin there forever.”

“The sea does carry your thoughts to those beyond the divide, Melyanna,” I assured her and her face brightened. “And your husband Singollo shall not abide ever in Námo’s halls, was he not blameless of sin?”

Her features darkened and I wished I had not spoken so callously. Though Singollo would return, she still had to endure the parting until it was over. Strange was to me the ways of love and the thoughts of lovers. Perhaps I had hurt her with my words though my intention had been only to comfort her.

“Elwë Singollo shall not return to me.” She gazed wistfully at the eastern skyline. “He loved a kinslayer.”

I frowned in confusion and stared at her. She offered a wan smile and shook her head saying, “The family you hunt have drawn many into their web of doom, my lord. There will be no peace hereafter even in Lórien.”

“You seem to dislike Lórien,” I offered cautiously, wanting to discard the subject of the wretched family I pitied so.

“Have you been there?”she asked softly, her eyes veiled, and her thoughts cloaked.

Frowning, I shook my head. I was not fond of courtesy calls and the Feanturi were not close to me. In fact, if not for Melyanna’s obvious distress, I would not have considered adopting a body and stepping into Nienna’s realm. The Maia inspired affection on my part. Perhaps it was her gentle heart that I liked.

Striving to take her mind away from the incessant brooding, I suggested tentatively, “Would you care to journey with me awhile? There is much to my realm that even the wisest are not aware of.”

Her eyes were flecked with doubt and reluctance. But she nodded, perhaps feeling the need to render an apology for summoning me, and took a nervous step forward.

* * *

“Ulmo!” 

She laughed and clapped her hands in excitement as the music of the waves rose and fell, and foam gently caressed her being. I suppressed my laughter and delved into the sea, playing the waves in concord with my light-hearted composition. She began to sing, her voice softer than the whisper of the breeze. Then, as my composition gained in tempo, the voice rose to greatness and I reveled in her clear tones that rode the winds. 

Music was my passion and in an age forgone, I had often lingered to hearken to the songs of Canafinwë Fëanorion and his mother, Nerdanel. He had inherited his musical acumen from her along with his father’s brilliance rendering him into the finest composer I had known. 

Melyanna was silver to his gold. She lacked his pride, intensity and feyness. Yet, power there was in her melody and wisdom mightier than even that of the wisest. If Lúthien had inherited her mother’s voice, then I did understand why Námo had granted her the boon of a life renewed. 

The waves ceased to calm as I was pulled into the dream woven by her voice. An enchantment had drawn Elu to her in the darks of Elmoth, or so my vassals said. I was mightier than she was and could not be ensnared by her sorcery. Yet I waited for her voice to spiral and fade away, wondering at the strange calm filling my heart that had been restless forever since creation.

* * *

I visited her often, telling myself that I was merely concerned for her welfare. Had she not lost all? She deserved companionship and a soul to unburden herself to. I would be that to her. 

If any of my peers noticed my hitherto nonexistent need for company, they did not remark on it. The western shores where Nienna’s mansion abutted were deserted by all. There I would wait for Melyanna, casting away my fluidity to assume a body. I did loathe being bound to a form, but it seemed politeness and I did not want to startle her in any manner. 

When did I start thinking of how others viewed my choices?

* * *

I was as the water I commanded. Deep were my thoughts and not even my mind could discern what was being uncoiled within. 

Years were spent in the same manner. I actively sought Melyanna’s company and often coaxed her into accompanying me on voyages. We composed music and sang with the winds. She had recovered and Nienna had hinted to me that my presence would be no longer required to keep company. Yet I persisted, drawn to her by a lure stronger than mere kindness.

“I travel to Lórien at dawn tomorrow,” Melyanna said softly as we whiled away our time on the shore.

I had been gazing at the delicate earlobe that peeked from beneath the crown of her hair. Startled by her tidings, I gaped at her in consternation. She had mentioned naught of this to me earlier.

“I did not want to tell you,” she continued. “You seemed peaceful and content.” She waved at the sea that had been calm thus far. But now the tide was rushing in, accompanying the turmoil of my thoughts. 

“Why must you go? Does Nienna have no further need of your assistance?” I barked uneasily, wondering about the sudden disturbance of my calm. 

She blushed before casting her eyes out to the sea and whispering, “She and I were once lovers.”

I nodded uncomfortably. I had suspected that, given Nienna’s unnatural kindness towards the Maia. A spark of jealousy unfurled in me and I gasped in realisation. Did I desire Melyanna in such a manner?

It certainly could not be Nienna who had inspired jealousy in me. I did not know her well enough. Did I know Melyanna? I presumed so. Was that a false presumption? She had had many lovers through the Ages. I had seen that in her eyes when she spoke of those who had touched her heart with wistful reverence. There had been Nienna herself, then Singollo and later a dalliance with a courtier called Mablung. She had also spoken kindly of a woman of the Edain. 

“So why are you leaving?” I asked, striving to keep my thoughts away from the lurid visions of my imagination. “Has she treated you with ill courtesy?”

“No!” she said hastily. “It is merely that we find it hard to forget what once was between us. I cannot live under her roof. I have changed.”

“In Lórien there are no ghosts of the past?” I enquired, ill at ease. Something in her gaze worried me deeply. 

“It is my home.”

“I cannot visit you there.” 

The words escaped me without bidding and silence fell between us, strangely uncomfortable.

Then she raised a trembling hand to the coat of mail that protected my rapidly thudding heart. Her fingers shook as she brought them slowly upwards to my jaw in a tentative caress. I shuddered, I who had not known the meaning of fear unto that day. She rose to her feet and flung herself about my stunned form, her face moving of its own accord to the crook of my neck. 

The sea crashed upon the shores with rising ardour as my thoughts fell scattered aside and my mind failed. I knew only the heady scent of her skin, the rise and fall of her shaking body, the trembling fingers that traced the form I had assumed and a sharp exhalation fled from my lips. 

“What are you doing?” I asked in rising alarm as her lips teasingly brushed my jaw. 

She flinched and stepped back, passing a weary hand over her eyes as she said, “I presumed wrongly and-”

“No!” I grasped her wrist and pulled it away from her eyes. She winced at the power contained in my grip and I hastily let go.

“I am woefully ignorant in this realm,” I apologised uncomfortably. The sea continued pounding as exasperation and unhappiness took hold of me.

She shook her head and again stepped forward to gently bring her lips to mine. This time, I laughed in pure wonder and her tingling peals of mirth melded with my own.

* * *

I am the Lord of Waters. I am no longer alone. I love to walk upon land, because the one I have come to hold dear above all loves the feel of the sand under her feet. 

She knew all that I was. But her mind was yet veiled to me and I had sworn I would not pry. 

Then came the day when a ship foundering tried desperately to reach the harbours of the west. I did my utmost to aid the sailors, for they were in Círdan’s employ and Círdan was beloved to the sea. But Manwë’s winds assailed the vessel and relented naught. 

“It bears Canafinwë,” I told Melyanna.

She paled and watched the rainclouds chase the sun away into the watery depths at the horizon. The golden voice that had inspired hearts beyond their bounds of courage rose to the skies in defiance. 

I knew then that none of them would ever repent. They would not come to Námo’s halls. They would go to the void with their fiery hearts still burning unvanquished. 

“Ulmo!”

It was Varda. Surprised by her unprecedented visit, I waited for her to speak. Her voice was tensed and her features veiled in inscrutability as she began.

“Harm the ship not. The winds have swept a man aboard. Let your waves carry him to the shores before the halls of Mandos. He shall be safe there.”

“But lord Manwë’s wrath is upon the prince,” I reminded her.

“None shall harm him while I reign as the Queen of the Valar,” she said determinedly. 

Melyanna did not seem surprised by the fervent command and said nothing at all. 

“She does not normally concern herself with the fates of the Quendi,” I could not help remarking later. “Perhaps she wants to save the last of Finwë’s grandsons.”

Melyanna smiled enigmatically and distracted me with a lingering caress to my wrist. I had become fond of assuming a body recently. The sensations were beyond words.

* * *

Ages passed and Cirdan’s last ship came west. 

“What will you do?” Melyanna asked softly, her eyes cast worriedly to the vessel silhouetted against the burning crimson of the sun upon the horizon.

“They are fools,” I sighed. “She will not cast herself upon the mercy of our council.”

“The precedent set by your council does not inspire a Finwëan to take that course, even you must agree,” Melyanna smiled wanly. “She is not as the rest of them. You must ask her to parley, Ulmo.”

“Manwë will not parley with her,” I said gently. “You know that. Even Varda’s plea has not been heard.”

She shook her head saying, “Manwë does not know all. Artanis will claim a price that the Valar cannot pay if Manwë insists upon confrontation. Stay her hand while you can.”

“What do you know?” 

Suspicion turned into alarm when a murky truth surfaced in her eyes. She brought her lips to mine and said quietly, “We shall not be separated by the pride of fools.”

“Who are the fools?” I enquired listlessly.

She laughed and said warmly, “Away with you. The council of Manwë meets in Taniquetil and you cannot tarry.”

I asked her something that had been giving me deep turmoil of late.

“If Manwë decrees a war, shall you cleave to me?”

Her eyes were serene and willed as she said, “Indeed, I shall.”

“Even if I should throw my lot in with Manwë?”

She met my gaze calmly and smiled.

“That you shall not, Ulmo. You have ever wanted to succour the Quendi. You shall not aid in bloodshed.”

“I will not aid either side,” I said quietly.

She nodded briskly and returned to the letter from Ingwë that she had been perusing. I kissed her brow and left for the council in Taniquetil. Come what may, I would have no part in bloodshed and I would not ask Melyanna to choose.

* * *

“Shall you cleave to us?” Manwë asked me, as he watched the unfurling clouds part to reveal the proud form of Artanis.

“Parley with her.”

“We were once friends, were we not?” he asked absently, his thoughts far away from the present.

“Indeed,” I offered cautiously.

“What changed?”

I did not reply. I had asked him not to court Varda, for her heart owed an allegiance deeper than one he could ever command. But he had not listened to me. I had been angry that he would choose love over wisdom.

“I have gone too far to retreat now,” he was saying.

“It is never late.”

“Blood, tears and lives, Ulmo.” Manwë sighed. 

“The greater reason to stop now. We are wiser and we should bring her to the parleying table instead of succumbing to anger and rivalry.”

“If only I had your counsel after the making of Valinor,” he lamented.

“It is never late,” I emphasised.

He laughed mirthlessly saying, “It would seem that your spouse’s optimism has been contagious of late in your dwelling.”

I did not reply and he continued uneasily, “It is well that you have found happiness finally.”

“Though it shall not last?”

“We can but hope that it does, my dear friend.”

He must have been very worried, for he had not addressed me thus in many Ages. He required my support. I would have offered that freely, if I owed not a greater allegiance to one who held my heart in thrall.

“Here we part then,” he said quietly.

“It is not a parting, Manwë. Paths converge often.”

“Ours shall not. Melyanna has ensured that.”

Did I discern bitterness in his tone? I did not pause to think of it. Instead, I hurried west where awaited my beloved in our dwelling. The days were waning and I wanted to spend them with her till the end.

“Shall you spare the ship?” Ingwë caught up with me.

His scion was aboard the vessel. I understood his fears. I shook my head and made to leave.

“My lord, I am grateful.”

“My actions are born of love rather than of compassion for the sailors,” I remarked wryly. 

“She is indeed the Gift of Eru then.” 

“That she is, to me.” I offered Ingwë a sincere smile for his compliment and I hurried on my way.

His words remained in my heart though. And when I saw her standing upon the terrace of our dwelling, her eyes raised in wonder at the splendour of Varda’s stars, a faint smile lingering on her lips, I thanked Eru once again most fervently for the gift I had been granted.

My heart sped and the waves rushed to the shore in accord when she turned to face me, joy lighting her features. I ran to her and took her in my arms, spinning her about merrily. She laughed and I sighed in bliss before bringing our lips together to seal my vow of ultimate allegiance.

* * *


End file.
